Along New Tides

by Merchant Mariner

Rating: mature
Tags: Gore, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Alternate Universe, Minotaur, Original Character, Dragons, Profanity, Adventure, Griffons, Abyssinians, Violence, Sex, Human
Length: 329460

After the Event, a group of mariners make their way through a deserted world.

A Ponies after people story (non-cannon) based on Starscribe's original story.

Things were working as usual for the crew of M/V Amandine when things had to come crashing down in a manner none of them could have ever expected. The 23rd of May will certainly leave a mark in their collective memories.

It's not everyday you wake up with claws instead of fingers.

Now left alone on a deserted Earth, the crew of the merchant vessel tries to figure out what to make of their bizarre situation while even stranger things keep popping up on their radar with an alarming regularity.

Story mostly contains creature characters, ponies only present as secondary characters (due to personal preferences).

Warning : Violence, swearing, gore, sex and spicy asian food.

Big thanks to Alden MacManx for his advice and proofreading.

Previous proofreader:
Dances With Unicorns (until Oct 2019)

Published 2018-11-24 19:30:01 UTC
Last updated 2021-02-17 23:03:33 UTC

Chapter 39: Gargoyles and Magic

The last day of June eventually came, and with it a series of rain clouds drifted over the Danish Capital, bringing with them brief showers along with an overcast sky that alleviated the worst of the summer heat.

The rain wasn’t all positives however. It sent the work crews on board of Rhine Forest scrambling for protective tarps the moment they realized it could very well wash off the still fresh layer of protective paint inside container bay. The arrival of rain also finally allowed them to try out the vacuum pumps at the bottom of said bay.

See, contrarily to Amandine and in similar fashion to many of the smaller container carriers that sailed the seas prior to the Event (a.k.a. feeders), Rhine Forest’s cargo bays were open to the skies. Not a single hatch cover. While it came with the advantage of facilitating access to their cargo, it meant the holds tended to accumulate water rather quickly. It also made her rather vulnerable to water ingress, something Captain Gerig was keenly aware of considering that might have been the cause behind the loss of one of Rhine’s sister ships. MS München disappeared way back in ’78, lost with all hands after one of the worst storms to ever sweep the Atlantic. All that was ever found of her were a couple lifeboats and barges, she never reached Savannah.

That’s what the pumps were for: the bottom of the holds had been covered in grates built over a structure shaped like an inverted V that lead into the bilges. With the ship’s policy of sailing trimmed by the stern, any rainwater (or even seawater, rare as it was for it to pass the main deck considering how high Rhine’s freeboard was) would then flow towards several sets of vacuum pumps installed aft of each of the ship’s compartments.

Needless to say, they had doubly made sure these pumps would be able to remove any water that ever flowed inside to the point where some sailors from Amandine called it ludicrously exaggerated. The light rain that fell that day wouldn’t have been able to threaten them even with the pumps at 2% output.

But it was done. As soon as the paint dried, their container bay would be operational, finally allowing them to load the wealth of containers they had brought back to the terminal. That included the containerized facilities found at the UNICEF depot as well as some homemade stuff like an armory and hydroponic facilities. Labs, additional cabins, workshops, and even a MRI scanner Doctor Delacroix had installed inside a container.

The end of the many modifications came as a relief for everyone in the fleet. This meant a lot of manpower was finally freed up to carry out more expeditions and keep watch around the terminal, all the welders could finally rest, and the installation of an armory on the barge carrier cleared a lot of space inside of Amandine’s own armory.

The hydroponics, lab and MRI scanner also made it possible to move on with a lot of experiments. A sizeable folder of experiment requests from the HPI had been building up in their backlog for the last few weeks. If that wasn’t enough, Sirocco’s delivery of seeds and potion manuals meant Doctor Delacroix was rather curious as to whether it would be possible for them to start producing health potions… or even any of the myriad of potions she discovered inside the manuals. Half a dozen of those would have been enough to revolutionize healthcare before the Event, so there was no way in hell the French-turned-hippogriff would pass that up.

For all she cared, the Earth Pony on the Equestrians’ team might even be able to help her with the hydroponics. He did say he was an agronomist after all.

Around mid-morning, a centaur stallion made his way to Captain Gerig’s office. Amadi entered the room with a dossier tucked under his arm, the Chief of the Barge Department quickly spotting the Captain behind her desk.

“Good morning Amadi, what brings you here this morning?” The small unicorn inquired, briefly tearing her baby blue eyes away from the stacks of paperwork she was tending to.

“Morning ma’am.” The centaur nodded in greeting. “I uh… do you remember that project I mentioned way back when we decided how to modify our ship?”

Raimund scratched the underside of her muzzle with one hoof, her pen coming to a hover midair next to her head.

“Was this the thing about adding more ships to our fleet? I’m sorry, there are so many things I have to keep track of, can’t remember everything we have on our backburner.”

“It is.” The Liberian eagerly confirmed before depositing his dossier on the Captain’s desk. “I thought with the closure of the first batch of works on the container bay we could… just maybe…” He hesitated. “… Consider doing it?”

Raimund’s eyes flicked between the centaur –who was quite awkwardly shuffling under her scrutiny- and the stack of papers inside the dossier.

“I see you did your research.” She commented as she quickly perused the contents of the files. “Care to sing me your pitch?”

“Aye Cap’n.” He perked up. “See, I think we could greatly improve the operational flexibility of our fleet if we added but a small number of auxiliary boats to our barge fleet.”

“Operational flexibility? Explain.”

“Well, I know we got the guys on Amandine. They’ve got their ship, and all the ground vehicles on board, which is great really. Means we can operate anywhere on land, and even mount mobile bases inside with a couple trucks and the containerized units we got from the UN. Now I thought about our role in the fleet, and I think we can go a lot further than just provide a lot of cargo space and tugboats.” He said all in one breath before pausing.

“Like the containers?”

“Containers, and any room or cargo you put inside one is something they can do as well.” Amadi pointed out. “What I mean is… them Amandine sailors, they can uh… project influence on land. But we on the other hand… or hoof… we can do it at sea.” The centaur absently stomped his hoof for emphasis. “Be more like a proper mothership, mind. I say, in addition to the tugs –useful as they are, they can’t go very far- we could take some escort boats for all kinds of stuff. We take a couple small trawlers, and then we can send out expeditions all around further than with road vehicles, without the risk of land monsters, they can fish to get fresh food. We can even arm them if we want! Actually we could even get some actual patrol boats for that; and maybe even hovercrafts to land in areas without ports.”

And he had done his research on the stuff. With the help of the Rhine’s secretary, as well as that of Roberto on Amandine, he had found the locations of several small shipyards in the region. Not the kind of yards that made ships like Rhine, far from it, but they made boats the size of which could fit on top of their barge stacks.

They had even found the catalogues of some of these yards. Some of them did produce the hovercrafts and patrol boats he boasted about. Amadi had dutifully drawn up a list of criteria they needed for any boat they might add to Rhine’s fleet. Size, weight, engine and fuel type.

While the centaur was fervently explaining what he had found about boats and their possible uses, Raimund had crossed her hooves on her chest, glancing down at the ‘patrol boats’ page of the dossier. There was a pamphlet from Damen, a Dutch shipbuilder she remembered as making frigates and corvettes.

Corvettes uh… Escorts. That’s what navy fleets used to protect capital ships. Carriers, amphibious assault ships, vessels couldn’t fight properly. In that respect they were not unlike Rhine or Amandine. They didn’t have proper weapons, .50 cals barely registering as noteworthy in naval warfare.

Admittedly, she was more worried about monster-to-ship than ship-to-ship warfare, but still.

Going down the page, her eyes landed on another advert featuring a British manufacturer.

“Amadi, what can you tell me about this one?”

The centaur abruptly stopped his pitch to take a look at the file the small unicorn was pointing at.

“The Berthon 20 Interceptor. According to our intel there was a local yard that produced it under license somewhere in the Danish archipelago. Seemed like a good design to me.”

And as he explained, he didn’t put it there without reasons. The design might not feature a ‘proper’ cannon or any gun bigger than a .50 cal, but it had three of them. Furthermore, the design was made with ‘weapon pods’ in mind, something which allowed the boats to be fitted with two Mk46 torpedoes or a set of Sea Spear missiles on their aft pod depending on the mission while still apparently being able to achieve speeds of 65 knots. They didn’t seem to lack anything when it came to endurance either: their 500NM range, whilst not big, was certainly nothing to scoff at.

“Alright, get me those, we’re gonna need them.”

“Really?” Amadi said enthusiastically.

“Yes, really.” The mare slammed a hoof on her desk for emphasis. “Consider this the green light for your project. I want as many of those patrol boats as you can find, along with as many torpedoes and missiles as we can accommodate even if it turns us into a potential Halifax explosion, copy that?”

“Parts?”

“Of course take parts along; I don’t want us to waste our time machining them.” She said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Prep me an expedition request for this evening, priority one goes to acquiring these armed escorts. Two goes for hovercraft or any kind of low draft landing vehicle the barge holds can accommodate.”

“Aye ma’am. What about prio’ three?”

“Trawlers. Any room we have left for fishing vessels you fill it. Might even be able to arm them eventually for all I care.” She barked. “Try to make sure they’re of the same class, I don’t want to collect parts for thirteen different kinds of engine.”

“Of course, of course.” Amadi nodded repeatedly at the much shorter filly.

The Liberian centaur departed soon after, leaving behind a rather satisfied Captain. With a smile on her muzzle she pulled an extract from the Equestrian bestiary out of her desk’s drawer. On it were pictures taken from the sea monsters’ section of the book. She brushed the tip of a hoof against a picture comparing the size of a sea serpent to that of a pony before reaching for her phone.

“Hoy Dilip,” She said jovially as soon as she heard someone pick up on the other end “Believe it or not, but the solution to our worries about sea monsters basically just landed on my desk.”

Elsewhere on Amandine, a young gargoyle mage was seen hesitantly making his way inside of the repair shop. All around him were vehicles in various state of repair being tended to by sailors from Amandine’s engineering department, with the sounds of welding and grinding resonating loudly against the walls.

After asking around for directions, Derek came to a halt next to a car lift currently supporting one of the ship’s Defenders. Next to it were tools carefully laid side by side on a cloth, as well as a pair of hooves poking out from underneath the vehicle.

“Excuse me?” The young mage tried. “The name’s Derek, I’m looking for Mister Nikola Dimitrov.”

He caught a sigh from the mechanic before seeing two hands grasp the truck’s front bumper, Nikola rolling out from underneath the truck a second later. There was an impatient look on the Bulgarian gargoyle’s scarred face, which barely abated when he noticed his visitor was one of the newcomers that came with Sirocco.

“What is it now? Can’t you see I’m busy?” He said gruffly, jabbing a thumb towards the truck but not standing up from his creeper.

“I’m sorry uh…”

“Damn right you are.” Nikola snorted, tempted to just dive back under the truck and ignore the bugger.

“Whatever,” Derek shook his head. “I was told the ponies had already done a briefing with generalities for all species, so we’re planning to give some species-specific ones soon.”

“And you’re coming to me… why exactly? Kiddo, if you’re wondering about when to do it just check out the work schedules in the ship’s office. Artyom can show you, he does the planning for us ratings.”

“I did… Actually I should tell you about that. In our culture it’s always left up to the elders to make decisions. Your work schedules crosses over with the others on the Rhine, so it’s up to you to choose.”

“Wait, I’m the eldest?” He quirked an eyebrow.

“Beat a guy called Witold by two months.”

“Ain’t that a surprise.” He whistled. “I’m older than ol’ Polish Navy guy. With the way I look nowadays you’d hardly believe that.”

“I take it he didn’t get as lucky when it came to post-Event youthening?”

“That he didn’t.” Niko nodded. “Not that I’d have any idea how we’re supposed to age you know…” He mused, distractedly scratching the scar across his muzzle with one greasy finger.

“Hence the briefing.”

“Right! Briefing uh…” He scrunched his face, thinking of the best time. “Don’t wanna cut short tonight’s game with Artyom so… what about nine in the evenin’? Can’t take that long now, can it?”

“Well now,” Derek knelt down by him. “Might take a while actually. See, we gargoyles, we’re rather polyvalent to put it mildly.”

“How so?”

“You know how unicorns can do magic, and that they need training?”

“Well, duh.” Nikola rolled his eyes. “Figured that.”

“Then did you figure you could as well?”

“Ain’t that new.” He snorted. “Pal, if I could lift stuff with my mind like sphinxes and unicorns I’d know. I think.”

Derek’s response was to point his hand towards the set of tools next to Nikola. A green glow appeared around his forearm before a torque wrench rose up in the air. Nikola quickly snatched it out of the air before it could float away; carefully placing it back on the cloth it had been laid on a few seconds prior.

“Fine, we can do magic.” He growled before turning towards the mage, an irritated look in his eyes. “I was wrong. I’ll just give you a warning: don’t touch a mechanic’s tools without asking. Ever.”

“Alright, fine.” Derek held up his hands in a placating manner, the young mage even taking a step back. “But don’t you want to know a bit more? Even just now?”

“Okay, but let’s keep the briefing at nine for now. We’ll plan out training once we’re together.”

Derek nodded curtly and went on to tell him the basics about gargoyles. He mostly talked about magic, making a passing mention that he had asked for the gargoyles of both ships to be inducted into the same flight training as the dragons, what with their wing layout being somewhat similar (as in: both being the only bipedal species with wings on their backs).

As for their magic, it was actually similar to that of unicorns, albeit with a few noticeable differences. For one, gargoyles didn’t have their foci directly linked to their brains. In their case, it was the marrow in their forearms that played that role (though for some reason many on Equus tended to believe they did it with their antlers, a common mistake).

In practice the difference was that while unicorns tended to be more geared towards specializing in certain areas, gargoyles on the other hand benefitted from having far greater versatility. Most unicorns only ever learned a dozen spells in their lifetime, including those tied to their Cutie Marks.

Gargoyles differed from that by having very intuitive spellcrafting, which resulted in them instinctively creating their own spell lattices, even untrained gargoyles. It wasn’t uncommon for the average middle-aged gargoyle to have something like forty spells in their repertory, some –if not most- homemade.

That was probably due to their foci not being directly connected to their brain. Far safer when experimenting. Weaving the energies using two arms instead of just one horn might also be more intuitive. Equestrian spells tended to require a lot of mental discipline with few gestures, the complete opposite of gargoyle magic.

Not that they were better than unicorns. What they had in versatility, they clearly lacked in power.

“Might be why none of us gargoyles in the fleet discovered out magic yet.” Niko mused.

“Maybe. Fact is: we don’t have the stopping power of unicorns, let alone that of powerhouses like sphinxes.” Derek said before tapping the glowing gem he wore in the center of his leather rig. “Professional mages like me need to resort to artificial foci like that one to make up for the difference. We also can’t brute force our way through most issues they can. Not a problem if you ask me…” He shrugged. “… Forces us to be crafty.”

Nikola eyed the gem critically.

“Artificial foci?”

“Think of it like a gem that’s enchanted to draw power from its surroundings and store residual magic. I got that big one and a couple more in my pouches, plus some potions and stuff that helps me. When I run short on juice I just cast a spell to suck some power out of the gem. The smaller gems in my pouches can do the same thing, but I also paired them with some enchantments to facilitate certain types of spells.” Derek explained before digging into one of said pouches.

What he pulled out was some kind of glowing topaz. The gem had a metal band wrapping around it, as well as a couple runes and sigils chiseled on its surface. Switching to a cross legged position, the young mage passed it to Nikola who took it in his hand with a bit of apprehension.

As he held it in his hand, he could feel a soft thrumming course through his arm, as if the gem was vibrating.

“I made that one for spells related to light and electricity. The trick I have with those is to cast the spell through the gem to be more efficient. When I use it alongside the adequate potions, I can basically cast my spells with no effort… at least until the gem runs out of power and I’m forced to wait until it recharges.”

“Complicated stuff that magic it sounds.” Niko muttered, turning the topaz this way and that in his hand. “Sounds a bit much for a guy like me.”

“I’ll keep it to the basics. Advanced stuff like that is an affair for graduates from a magical academy like me. What I’m going to teach you and the other gargoyles is just the basics; the rest will be left up to you and the books we leave behind.”

“That I can work with.” He gave back the gemstone. “Anything else I should know?”

Derek’s eyes trailed over the prominent scar running across Niko’s muzzle, the same one he had got in France, courtesy of the Quarray eels (yes, quar-ray not quarry, as written in the Equestrian Bestiary).

“Did I tell you my surname?”

“Ne, not really.”

“Fireburst. My full name is Derek Fireburst. Now do you know the thing with gargoyle names?”

“Obviously not.” Nikola rolled his eyes.

“Nobody’s born with a surname in our culture. They’re earned during our teenage years; it’s sort of our rite of passage into adulthood.”

“But how do you keep track of families?”

“Magical imprints, can’t lie with those, and it works hella good to prevent cuckoldry.” Derek shrugged. “Plus as a whole it tends not to be much of a problem. Gargoyle culture doesn’t put too much focus on extended family.”

“So… magic DNA testing?”

“I have no idea what DNA is, but a magical imprint is something we use to track someone’s lineage. It’s not even that hard to learn, though for some reason other races don’t like using it.”

“Gee, with what you just claimed about cuckoldry it’s a surprise.” Niko drawled, voice dripping with sarcasm.

“I don’t see what you’re talking about.” The young mage quirked his head. “Adultery’s a criminal offense where I’m from; it’s a serious matter for us.”

“I can imagine.” Nikola shook his head. “Back to surnames?”

“Right. When I was born it was just ‘Derek’ and no ‘Fireburst’ to speak of. In fact we also translate names, so my actual surname is ‘Ohňostroj’.” He explained, absently reaching for his tail and fiddling with the tassel at the tip. “I got it during the entrance exam to the magical academy. They wanted us to demonstrate a fireball spell…” He told with a wince.

Sometimes, pyrotechnic spells can work too well. The academy teachers had been just as surprised as he had been when what should have only been a small ball of embers punched right through the walls of the exam room and started feeding off the ambient magic for power.

Turns out, sometimes you should just keep it simple.

“So how much damage did it do?” Nikola chuckled.

“I may or may not have destroyed an entire wing of the academy.”

The Bulgarian mechanic choked back a laugh.

“It’s not funny!”

“Kind of is. So I’d wager, if you get a surname based on your deeds, I’d be called…”

“Scarface. Definitely Scarface.” Derek stated.

“No surprise there, peeps already call me that around the ship.” He shook his head ruefully. “Meh, at least that’s a name I can carry with pride, though I won’t give up my original family name.”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way. We’re not here to supplant your culture with ours after all.” Derek concluded, finally standing up.

“I’d tell you more, but Sir Armiger’s probably waiting for me right now and you’ll be hearing it during the briefing either way.”

“Yeah got it, scamper off kid, I got some work to do myself.”

On that note, Nikola laid back down on his creeper and pulled himself back under the truck, one hand already reaching for his tools.

“There we go, that should do it.” Johann said proudly, finally closing the electrical cabinet he had been focused on for the last few minutes.

The cabinet in question was attached to a boxy structure made from corrugated steel that had quite obviously been taken from some unused shipping containers. In fact the entire device was pretty much a repurposed twenty-foot container. That was how they had designed it at least.

Out of the top of the device, a simple antenna rose half a dozen stories above the landscape around them, its thin mast kept in place by a couple cables solidly anchored in the concrete of the docks. That would ensure the radio antenna would last a while before something knocked it loose.

Not that he’d assume this relay would last forever, but at least he could expect it not to fail within at least a couple months without maintenance.

The container and antenna weren’t the only things present either. They had plugged a small wind turbine and a couple solar cells to the thing so that it wouldn’t depend on the local power grid. The Northern European grid may still have some power in it thanks to its reliance on green energy, but all those wind turbines would fail sooner or later. The radio relay would rely on its own power, with the turbine and solar cells feeding power into several banks of batteries that would ensure it could remain operational even under adverse weather conditions.

“Thank you so much!” Sandra gushed, the batpony mare trotting over to Johann and wrapping him in a ‘wing hug’.

“It’s nothing. Kind of my job as electrician.” The batpony stallion smiled, his black fur thankfully hiding the small blush that was creeping its way onto his muzzle. She was kinda cute… for a mare.

He still was a bit weirded out by the change.

“Nonsens, nobody forced you to do this. Even Captain Prateek barely considered this as more than a pet project.”

“Well now you will get your radio broadcast.” He looked up at the radio relay.

They had made sure to set it up in an unused part of Copenhagen’s harbor. No crane or buildings there to block out the waves, but still sheltered enough that it wouldn’t be destroyed by bad weather as soon as they left. Even installing the thing wasn’t overly complicated, it being designed out of a shipping container meant they could easily pile all the components on a truck and assemble it on site in as little as two hours.

With a design like that it shouldn’t be too much trouble seeding these relays in any port they stopped in. The parts themselves weren’t that hard to find and assemble. Come to think of it, the software might have been the hardest thing to figure out, if only to make sure the system was secure in a way that nobody could hack into their relays without the proper password.

“Funny thing…” Sandra mused as she looked up towards the antenna as well.

“What?”

“I always dreamed of having my own radio station you know… never figured it would take some weird kind of apocalypse to make it possible.” She whispered, her tone so low even Johann’s batpony ears had a hard time picking it up.

He chuckled.

“You know what this makes me think of?”

“Shoot.”

“You know Fallout? The videogame that is.”

“I think one of my friends played that.” She scrunched her muzzle in thought. “What is it about?”

“It’s a RPG about what happens after a nuclear war. They always have this radio presenter going on in the background, talking to survivors between bouts of old-school music, giving advice and telling them what’s going on.”

“Hvor mærkeligt. Bar the old-school music that’s exactly what I was planning to do.”

“So what were you going to play then? Doubt you can keep talking 24/7, and even then repeating prerecorded shows can get annoying.”

“Dunno really.” The smaller mare shrugged with her wings. “Haven’t decided yet. I kinda like rock music but it’s not that popular and the broadcast is worldwide. I’ll try to mix things up, ask around the fleet for suggestions. Maybe even get some of them to translate the podcasts.”

Her eyes then caught a ray of sun reflecting off of something on the side of the radio relay.

“What’s that?”

“That? Oh, it’s something I added last minute.” Johann explained as he approached a small plaque welded next to where they had connected the cables from the solar cells. “I had it engraved in Amandine’s workshop, it’s just a small explanation regarding what the relay is in English, along with contact data just in case some survivors manage to track them down.”

They lapsed into silence for a minute, both of them staring up at the antenna and the swirling blades of the wind turbine.

“You think I will do well?” Sandra asked him.

“With a voice like yours they’ll love it.”

“Really? You think I have a nice voice?”

“I hmm… I mean… Ja.” Johann stuttered. “Your accent is kinda cute… I think.”

“Aww, that’s so sweet.” She smiled amiably.

Out of the corner of her eye she spotted the Rhine’s resident electrician shift his weight from one hoof to another before the stallion visibly swallowed.

“Say, I was wondering…” He started.

“Yes?”

“I was jogging around the quays this morning and there was this sweet spot with a small jetty in view of the city. Maybe we could… get there after the flight lessons you know? Grab a piece of cloud and enjoy the sight.”

“Like a date?” She smirked, half turning away from him.

“Like a date.” He nodded, a bit too firmly before it made his dark blue mane fall in front of his eyes.

Purely for show and to make him sweat a bit, Sandra scratched the underside of her muzzle with one hoof as if she was hesitating. She held the position for a couple seconds before turning back to the German batpony with a small smile.

“I’d be delighted. After the flight lessons?”

“I’ll meet you by Amandine’s stern ramp.”

Right then he saw one of her ears swivel in the general direction of the ships, her features frowning in concentration.

“Excuse me?” Johann tilted his head.

“Oh sorry.” She laughed awkwardly. “It’s not you, it’s my Cutie Mark. See, I think it’s what allows me to listen to radio waves, like a biological antenna. I’ve been eavesdropping on the VHF chatter to train it whenever I can.”

“Really? That’s awesome! Can you talk back?”

“Haven’t tried yet.” She shook her head. “VHF is kinda hard to pick up; I have a better time with lower frequencies, to the point where I need to shut them out with my headphones sometimes. I’ve been experimenting with the ‘bat’ side of things for a few days.”

“So have I. Night vision’s really cool when you’re an electrician I can tell you, and I can even use my echolocation to look for wires through walls. It’s awesome!”

The two of them started talking about their experiments with their newfound capabilities while tidying up the tools used to set up the relay. Bad as it was that the transformation had robbed them of their hands, they were slowly but surely starting to figure out the intricacies of their change and getting used to their new bodies. They swapped tips, telling each other about ways they had found to cope with the changes, from common stuff like fur care to more practical things like how they had to adapt their stuff to be manipulated by a batpony’s webbed wings.

“So no, while I appreciate your concerns, I can ensure you they are unfounded.”

“No reason to fear a group of survivors would steal nukes then?”

“As I said Captain, nukes are complex pieces of technology. Setting them off is far more complicated than lighting a firecracker. A mere civilian stands no chance of getting to that point, and any competent land-bound personnel that would reappear is unlikely to reappear along with enough hands –if they even have any that is- in their group to arm a nuke.” Eko said from the other end of the video call. “Furthermore, we did keep tabs on nuclear arsenals prior to the Event. Their retrieval is one of our top priorities as soon as technology allows.”

Yeah, and that was a reassuring prospect. Stereotypical shady group starts hoarding the nukes. Can’t go wrong at all. Not that Dilip would ever say that to Eko’s face…

“Alright, and I’d wager you’d be able to contact any reappearing ship that’s armed with nuclear warheads.”

“Indeed.” The Indonesian told. “I don’t suppose you changed your mind on the retrieval of nuclear materials? We’re willing to increase our prices for those, enriched materials in particular.”

“No chance I’m afraid.” He raised a paw at the camera. “I’ve never had to transport that kind of cargo, and I don’t intend to begin the process with a decaying infrastructure and little to no support. Tell your superiors I’m sorry, but the safety of my ship and crew takes priority over monetary gains.”

“Pity.” Eko clicked his tongue, leaning back in his chair with a grin. “You didn’t seem to have quite as many calms with nuclear power plants.”

“The plants were a threat to life. All that uranium however, isn’t. It can very well stay there until you get it yourself. Putting aside the matters of radiation, our fleet should soon be able to leave port, will you be ready to reception the prototypes?”

“As a matter of fact, we should. Our R&D department finally released its first prototypes and given us a workable date.” Eko said, already reaching for a stack of files on the side of his desk.

“How soon?”

“One month, give or take. After that we will be able to send a team to get them.”

“Excellent news then. Now, me and my Officers need to know where you lot want your cargo delivered. We need to chart that voyage and retrieve any intel we can on local port facilities.”

“For now? We have chosen a rail yard in Savannah, next to the container terminal. I’ll send you the coordinates. A seaport like that shouldn’t pose any trouble for sailors like yours now, should it?”

“As long as we can prepare for it.” Dilip paused. “Pardon me for not knowing American geography by heart, but which state are we talking about?”

“Georgia.” The HPI agent said with a roll of his eyes.

“Ah… Georgia…” Dilip smacked his lips. “Drawing a blank there I’m afraid.”

“It’s just north of Florida. As I said: we will send you the coordinates. And Captain?”

“Aye?”

Eko leaned forward in his chair, fingers gripping the armrests tightly and addressing the Diamond Dog a piercing look.

“You have yet to give me a reason to doubt your allegiances. I trust you would not sour the potential gains both of us can get from this alliance for nothing, uh?”

Dilip picked up on the meaning, but he only responded with an amiable smile.

“My collaborators and I very much valuate the agreement we currently have with your organization. Be certain that we understand it is in our direct interest to work alongside you and we will share data and intelligence gained during our voyages.”

“I’m sure you will Prateek, I’m sure you will. Goodbye.”

And with that, Eko’s face disappeared from the screen, leaving behind nothing but the grassy hill of the main menu. Dilip’s shoulders sagged.

“Fuck.”

He needed to throw them off for a while. Needed to throw some intel at them so they wouldn’t pry. Needed to get that lab running to keep the HPI guys happy. Needed them not to discover they were basically hiding aliens from them…

The airship. The goddamn airship with balloons so big a satellite could see them. He needed to get Sirocco away from Copenhagen, at least until they could give the HPI something to chew on.

And most of all, he needed some tea.

He called Sidereal’s cabin.

“Good afternoon Doctor, I think we need to talk some more about Narvik.”

“But the good ferry-man and his wife lived happily ever after, as king and queen. And they gave a grand ball to the nobility and to the people.... The Self-playing Guitar furnished the music, the wonderful purse scattered gold all the time, and the king entertained all the guests right royally.” Vadim read out in Polish, intermittently glancing down from his book to the form of Andy in her bed.

He was lying down beside the young chick in her bed, reading her the tale of the Good Ferry-man and the Water Nymphs for her nap. She was clearly tired as he reached the end of the tale, blinking slowly as she hovered somewhere between the ‘awake’ and ‘asleep’ status, claws kneading her plush blanket.

Vadim knew she didn’t understand most of what he was saying, though she did seem to pay attention to his voice from time to time when he made a show of pointing at pictures in the book he was reading from. It was an old paperback collection of Polish fairy tales he had stuffed in his cabin, lost for a while under a pile of historical books about the Eastern Front.

He had no idea where he got it from, but he wasn’t about to complain.

Andy let out a final yawn as Morpheus finally claimed victory over her and she nodded off, a content purr escaping the little griffon’s throat. He smiled fondly at her before shutting the book in one soft motion and draping her blanket over her. The book found its way under his coveralls before Vadim carefully snuck out of Andy’s cabin, mindful not to wake up the snoozing kid.

He almost woke her up anyway when Micha surprised him outside the cabin, the hen sneaking up on him and draping a wing over his back.

“Gee, never knew you were such a scaredy-cat Vad’.” She chuckled as both griffons started walking towards the Ukrainian’s cabin.

“I’m not; you just surprised me is all. I was more focused on not waking the kid up than paying attention to what was going on outside.”

“She asleep?”

“Eeyup, good for her afternoon nap.” He said, letting out a yawn himself. “Kinda glad I found that old fairy tale book.” He added, pulling it out of his coveralls to show her.

“Now where did you get that old thing?”

“No idea.” He shrugged. “But it’s in Polish, and I figured you’d want the kid to be raised speaking that. Just so she gets a mother tongue of her own you know…”

“Wait, you don’t want her to learn English?”

“Not as her mother language. English… it’s the lingua franca on board, but it’s precisely because it’s that I don’t want her to only know English. She needs a language she can call her own, and English ain’t that, not on this ship. She’s a kid too; they’re damn good at learning languages when they’re that young anyway. She’ll pick up both languages like it’s nothing, and I wouldn’t even be surprised to hear her spout something in Hindi just from hanging around Rahul-”

“-or swear words.” Micha pointed out.

“That too.” Vadim deplored. “She’ll pick up a lot of them, and I don’t think there is much we can do about it considering some of us use them like commas.”

“You said it yourself: a merchant vessel ain’t the best place to raise a kid.”

“Neither is anywhere during the apocalypse, mind.” He commented just as they neared his own cabin. “Now, all that getting the kid to sleep made me drowsy myself and I had an early watch this morning.”

“You’re taking naps now?” Micha laughed.

Vadim entered his cabin, motioning with one wing for his mate to come in. They had reached an odd point of sorts, with neither abandoning their cabin even though they spent most nights sleeping in each other’s embrace. In fact the Ukrainian was pretty sure some of his stuff was trickling its way into her cabin, just as hers was starting to appear in his.

That Sabaton poster definitely wasn’t his for one.

“Ain’t a crime last I checked.” He said as he hopped on his bed, soon joined by Micha. “I mean, you may not have that much work to do except for expeditions, but I got most of my timetable filled with watches, medical duties that somehow now include research, the kitchen assistance thing, flight lessons, taking care of Andy when I can, running maintenance, and then I got to spare time for Camille’s medical lessons and the entire libraries she has me read through. For God’s sake, show me some mercy there Mich’.”

“Now that you mention it, you did get shafted with all those duties.” She mused as she laid down next to him, nipping at his neck in passing to remove a broken feather.

“It’s crazy you mean!” He complained. “You’d think that considering the only ‘contract’ we have hasn’t even given us a destination yet, we’d have some more free time but here I am running around like a hummingbird on crack.”

He quickly threw a look towards his nightstand to check the time.

If he fell asleep right then, he might be able to sneak two hours of sleep before dinner. He’d have to chug a coffee or two to retain enough awareness for the flight lessons but provided it didn’t take too much time and he avoided Camille and her ‘extra reading lists’ he might get enough sleep…

Before being forced to wake up at four in the morning for the next watch, of course.

He should probably ask Angelo for some Red-Bull, that might actually help.

“Vadim?” Micha interrupted his musings, the hen brushing her beak through his neck feathers and eliciting a purr out of him.

“Uh?”

“I don’t mean to insult you or anything, but maybe you should talk to the Captain about your daily planning.”

“But why? I can do it.”

“You shouldn’t though. And you don’t have to either. Remember: Geert is an Officer now.”

“So?”

“We kept the same duty plan as before, right? That means the duties of the Third Officer are still set the same as when it was only you. You should bring it up to the Captain, she can probably take the burden of your maintenance stuff so you can focus on your watches and medical duties.”

“That… that’s actually not a bad idea.” He admitted. “But… I know it’s necessary but I don’t like the medical stuff. If I give up the maintenance… I fear it’d be like conceding defeat you know? Like… like first it’ll be the maintenance, then I won’t be needed for voyage planning and navigation and eventually…” The Ukrainian griffon let out an annoyed trill. “… that I’ll be just that: some weird kind of Doctor that’s not really an Officer anymore.”

He felt the wing she had draped over his back tighten and pull him closer.

“It won’t, I promise. And if you’re afraid that’s the way it’ll go, I’ll make sure we visit the Captain together so it’s clear it won’t ever get that bad, ok?”

Vadim leaned deeper into her embrace, his tail already starting to wrap around hers even though both were still encased in the ‘tail-sleeve’ they had added to their coveralls for extra protection. The two of them lapsed into silence, Vadim almost managing to slide into slumber before being nudged awake by his mate.

“Say Vad’, I’ve been meaning to ask…”

“Well shoot.”

“That violin case you got in your wardrobe… what’s it for? I know you’re somewhat into classical music but I never heard you play.”

The violin case in question had been on the edge of her mind for the last few days, its battered leather a common sight whenever she found herself in Vadim’s cabin, tauntingly daring her to ask what exactly it was doing there.

“I can play. Pretty decently actually. I just don’t usually do it. Learned way back when I moved to Poland…” Vadim trailed off, resting his beak on his forelegs.

He knew the violin inside was nothing special, and that it was just as beaten and battered as the case it came with. Not that it mattered, he had always been very insistent on having it fixed whenever needed.

He did keep it for a reason. That reason being tied to the original name written inside, which accompanied a very particular photo.

“Did I ever tell you how I came to live in Poland?”

“Only that you grew up with your uncle and your mom. You lived in Kiev before, right?”

“Yeah… Right.” He clicked his beak. “Moved to Poland when I was… five I think? It’s a bit blurry at that age. We didn’t do it for no reason mind, my mom was forced to move in with my uncle who lived all the way in Krakow when she realized she couldn’t take care of me and my brothers on her own.”

“Why was she on her own Vadim?”

The grey falcon griffon went silent for a minute, almost holding a staring contest with the violin case.

“Dad died. That violin, it was his you see. He worked at the National Philharmonic for a living. Pretty good at it too from what I was told. But then… one night he puts me to bed before going to a concert and all is good. Then I wake up the next day and I learn that was the last I’d ever see of him. Drunk fuck T-boned him as he was coming back after the concert, half a kilometer from where we lived. Frankly, I don’t know what’s worse: knowing my brothers grew up without a single memory of him or that I was more concerned about some shit cartoon that morning rather than by the death of my own father.”

“Vad’… it’s normal for kids that age not to fully comprehend it.” Micha tried to comfort him.

“I know that… doesn’t make it any less ridiculous, didn’t make it any less painful when my brothers looked at a family picture and went ‘who’s that guy?’ while pointing at dad.”

“So you keep the violin to remember him?”

“Yeah, mom forced me to learn. Bored me to death when I was little but eh, that’s a nice skill to put on your CV I guess?” He lamented. “Never tried it to make it more than a hobby though…”

“Vadim?”

“Yeah?” He turned his focus away from the violin case and back to her.

“Thanks for telling me that. Can’t be easy.” She said, pressing herself closer to him. “Eh, for all we know maybe one day we’ll get you to play for the crew.”

Vadim’s eyes flicked back to the violin.

“Maybe one day.”

“I’m a what now?” Marta repeated.

The nurse was still inside of Rhine’s infirmary, watching Derek and Armiger come drop off a crate of health potions. Only the first-aid variant unfortunately, the stronger healthcare-grade they would have to make themselves. The two creatures from Sirocco (or rather: Derek carrying the crate and Armiger basically enjoying the sights) had deposited the crate in the office so she could store the potions later, only for Armiger to make a passing remark about her species.

“Name varies depending on where you ask.” The Abyssinian noble turned back towards her between two interested glances at the clinic around him. “Ask the Equestrians, they’ll call creatures like you something like ‘Storm Creatures’ in reference to the Storm King. Ask anywhere in the southern hemisphere and they’ll probably call you ‘Hedgefolk’ or ‘Hedgefog’. Both are technically correct, they just put emphasis on different aspects of your species’ innate magic.”

“Magic? I can do magic? And who’s that ‘Storm King’ anyway?”

“Not in the same fashion as gargoyles or unicorns, no.” Derek interceded with a shake of his head. “It’s… more elementally-tied, like dragons. As for the Storm King, he was a tyrant that abused the hedgefolk to rise to power before moving on to conquer and ravage half the world with his fleet of airships.”

The young gargoyle then turned halfway towards his boss.

“Sir, may I give her a small explanation, if only briefly?”

“Proceed.” Armiger agreed with a flourish of his paw before pulling a chair next to Marta’s desk.

In the same fashion as Abyssinians and parrots, hedgefolk were basically the result of magic (or Harmony, as Ponies would claim) ‘uplifting’ regular hedgehogs into sentience. Their coarse dark grey fur and white quills matched the hedgehog breed they branched off from, though their ‘wild’ brethren was near extinct by the time the Storm King rose to power.

The land they came from wasn’t welcoming by any stretch of imagination. It was an entire subcontinent with jagged terrain and massive basalt outcroppings breaking up the landscape, leaving only narrow valleys and barren windswept plateaus as workable land. Even then that land was never taken for granted, thanks in no small part to the geological instability the area was subject to. The birches, the only trees capable of growing on the poor soil, never grew tall before an earthquake or a landslide ripped them out of their roots.

Vegetation and arable land were also rather poor, with pioneer species being the only ones to ever grow naturally, and arable land being a rare thing which forced hedgefolk to invest in alternatives like fisheries and algae culture. They were also the only species on Equus to actually use lichen in their traditional food, since they could digest the toxins and the thing grew all over the place.

All of this resulted in hedgefolk culture evolving into two parts: settlements on the shores of the subcontinent gathered around fishing spots and algae farms, and the other part of the population adopting a more nomadic lifestyle where they traveled with their airships around the hinterland, temporarily stopping above the rare strips of arable land for a few harvests before leaving them to recover.

On the plus side, their mining industry yielded magically-infused minerals only found in trace amounts anywhere else on the planet. The only saving grace of the entire subcontinent, because even the weather seemed against them, ironically the reason behind their innate magic and why they got called ‘Storm Creatures’ or ‘Hedgefog’.

“Why is that?” Marta asked.

“You’ll see.”

A cold and wet climate, that’s what these guys were stuck with, which was only made worse by the warm air that often washed against their shores from nearby Abyssinia. This clash of cold and warm near their shores resulted in a sort of ebb and flow system where half the year was taken up by an alternation between thunderstorms and heavy fog.

And somehow, that’s what Harmony decided to match their innate magic to. Fog and storms.

“Sounds like bullshit.” Marta snorted.

“I think this calls for a demonstration.” Armiger smiled before standing up, the feline staring Marta down with a glint in his eyes.

“A demonstration? Kitten you’re talking bull…” The wheelchair-bound Pole waved at herself. “… I don’t even know what I can do. You think I’m suited for a demonstration?!”

“Simple…” Armiger smiled, Marta then spotting one of his paws reaching for the flintlock holstered on his hip. “Incentives!” He cried before flicking the hammer and pointing the gun right between her eyes.

An icy sensation ran down her spine, the primal instinct of fight-or-flight calling to her as her electric blue eyes focused on the muzzle of the gun a mere centimeters away from her muzzle.

Get away. Get to safety. GET AWAY!

There was a feeling, like her ears popping. In the blink of an eye, the world seemingly turned gray.

“There we go.” Armiger winked at her before holstering the flintlock and sitting back down. “Your demonstration, milady.”

Marta looked at her paws in wonder; the limbs had taken on a wispy, ethereal appearance. Dark grey fur had turned to translucent white, like…

Like fog.

“So that’s why we’re called Hedgefogs.” Was all she said, watching herself turn back to corporeal form.

She wasn’t even mad at the pistol thing. That was kinda amazing.

“Precisely.” Armiger nodded. “Your species’ fight-or-flight reflex is geared towards escaping. In the prevalent fog banks where they come from, it works very well to run away from danger. You’re also intangible when you do that… except to species that can cloudwalk, obviously.”

She picked up on the fight-or-flight thing and asked Derek to elaborate.

“Most Hedgefogs are rather skittish in nature, paranoid even, unlike species like centaurs and minotaurs who face threats head-on.” The mage said. “Even though your quills act like foci for your other magic –which is electric manipulation, a form not unlike the dragons’ fire magic-, even your response to that threat proves your species aren’t fighters. The electric stuff, that’s for when you’re backed into a corner, we’ll show you the manuals.”

“Wait, I heard you say that Storm King guy took over like half the world!”

“That he did.” Derek nodded. “But he was more than a simple Hedgefog. See, your species is keenly aware of their fearful nature. So they sought a solution, and through magic they created a warrior subspecies.”

“We call them Legionnaires.” Armiger added.

“The Storm King was the first, an albino version made more powerful. Compared to you, they’re bigger, bulky enough to rival minotaurs, but they don’t have magic, save for the Storm King.”

Considering Hedgefogs were about as big as Diamond Dogs (though less muscular), that made for quite the difference in Marta’s imagination.

“That got out of control didn’t it?” Marta deadpanned.

“Less than a month after he had his army completed. They had gone overboard trying to counterbalance their innate skittishness and made them all far too aggressive. They immediately shed their defensive role, subjugated their creators, took control of the nomadic airship fleets in the hinterland and moved on towards Abyssinia. That marked the beginning of a dark time for the entire planet, something Hedgefogs are still paying reparations for. The surviving Legionnaires all got life sentences, as did the research board that created them.” Derek recited in a practiced manner.

Marta crossed her arms and bit back a snort.

“I just learned about my newfound species and I’m already thinking they’re a bunch of morons.”

“No argument there.” Derek shrugged.

Author's Note

Not much going on in this chapter, just laying down some worldbuilding on species from Equus' southern hemisphere and setting up the scene for future expeditions.

As for these 'hedgefogs', they're a bit of a peculiarity. There is seemingly little connection in the movie between the King, his soldiers and Grubber. The latter is the one that gave me the idea about the 'hedgehog, hedgefolk' thing.

To me at least it seems Grubber would be the one more representative of his species (or young ones at least, pretty sure he's a kid). Actual hedgefolk are thus significantly smaller than the 'legionnaires' from the movie, and their magic is more in line with the Storm Creature name the Equestrians in the Northern Hemisphere gave them.

Still slowly trying to put something together for centaurs and gargoyles. Their depiction in comics as having close ties and a shared court in the government (King Vorak being married to a gargoyle) makes me think of a complex system involving numerous allied nations. A powerhouse, but brittle.

Probably something along the lines of Austria-Hungary. That could be interesting. I'll see.

Last thing is, giving the gargoyles magic instead of the centaurs (power-wise, they're sort of a cross between Earth Ponies and Minotaurs) makes what Tirek became even more of an abomination.

Chapter 40: Expedition Away

Morning rose above Copenhagen, and with it began yet another day filled with training, modifying the ships and learning about races from the ‘aliens’.

A day that was barely beginning for Alejandro. The Spaniard woke up in a bed that wasn’t his, with an arm wrapped over him and a soft breath rustling the hyacinth macaw’s neck feathers.

Right. He was on Sirocco. And the breath on his neck…

“Bos días.” Elaena greeted him in her raspy voice, one of her claws ruffling the feathers on his chest.

“Bos días to you too.” He replied with a smirk.

He knew if he turned right now, he would be greeted to the sight of a corset-wearing female parrot, the lace enticingly hugging her curves; the sole thought of it enough to make mini-Alej’ rise to the call.

But not today. He had work to do. And so did Elaena, probably.

“You know, for someone pretty new to that body, you were not half-bad yesterday.”

“Neither were you.” Alejandro smiled cockily. “I must say, knowing the human equivalent, I can’t really regret the change.”

“Oh really?” Elaena blinked, one of her ears twitching before she propped herself up on one elbow.

The male parrot was far from being a sore sight himself. At least that’s the gist of what went through her mind as her pink eyes swept over the rippling muscles and large shoulders Alejandro sported, all barely hidden below his dark blue plumage.

“Or maybe it’s you.” He winked at her, the yellow down feathers around his eyes highlighting the gesture before he swung his legs over the side of her double bed.

He could see his clothes lying in a pile next to the bed. Not the usual orange coveralls he wore when working on Amandine, but instead civilian attire he had retrofitted to fit his new shape, which included a sleeveless Hawaiian shirt he probably would never have worn had it not been for parrots’ attraction to that kind of colors.

Elaena’s cabin was eerily reminiscent of the kind found on sailboats before the Event: cramped, with a visible effort spared towards saving space by using folding furniture and recessed compartments. Her bed was in the center on top of a small dais, the bed being fitted with a set of white gossamer curtains with hints of green dye matching the color of the bed sheets.

Just like the rest of Sirocco’s structure, the interior decorations matched the materials used to build the airship: varnished balsa wood panels all over, with the stronger green-painted aluminum beams and girders forming the skeleton of the structure and appearing here and there, mainly around doors and portholes, or to support the fixtures for the gas lamps that lit up the insides of Sirocco.

And there were also the signs indicating Sirocco was basically Elaena’s home: sepia pictures hung on the walls along with souvenirs from her voyages. A half-open closet in a corner of the room showed him some articles of clothing like a colorful Victorian aviator suit or her own set of dress blues.

Leftovers from their ‘funtime’ on the previous day also littered the cabin: a couple wine bottles by the side of the bed, their discarded clothes…

The obligatory used condom lying halfway to the small bathroom adjacent to the Captain’s cabin.

“It’s been a while since I had that kind of fun.” Elaena commented.

“Same here. The fall of civilization doesn’t really lend itself to fooling around.”

They didn’t even intend for it to occur. Not really. They had already had sex the first time after Elaena’s improvised flight lessons.

The second time however wasn’t planned. Alejandro had already mastered his winged form, he didn’t really need to go back to Sirocco for extra lessons, Gust and Radiant could have provided that. Yet he came back, out of uniform and with alcohol.

And she had put on lingerie.

Frankly the sole opportunity of letting off some steam after all the stuff that went on was a relief. The two of them had a lot more in common that he first thought.

“Anything planned today?” She asked him.

“Besides the usual duties?” He shrugged. “Just more training. We had a reunion about some expedition planning late in the morning but you already know about that.”

Alejandro rifled through his pile of discarded clothes, eventually spotting a golden glint and pulling out his watch. Two more hours before the reunion. Plenty enough time then…

They wound up fucking one more time in the shower, the cramped space forcing them against one another as they rubbed soap through their plumage, Elaena hanging off Alejandro’s neck with her legs wrapped around his hips.

“Better be careful, this could become a bad addiction.” He chuckled just as he was running his talons over her taut buttocks, absently twirling her tail feathers with one digit.

“Doubt anything like that could be considered bad.” She answered, her crest feathers sticking to her neck from the water running down her back.

Unfortunately they had to move on sooner or later. Sirocco was an airship, and much smaller than seagoing vessels like Amandine. Her water tank was tiny, so…

They blew through it all in one shower. Whoops. At least they would be able to refill it from nearby Amandine, the car carrier’s desalination plant could produce in one day ten times what Sirocco could store at maximum capacity.

Soon enough, both of them shuffled out of Elaena’s cabin to move on for breakfast. Outside the cabin was a sort of ladder/hallway that occupied the bow section of the airship: up and forward lead to the chartroom and the cockpit in the ‘neck’ of the ship.

In the opposite direction, the hallway curved back down towards Sirocco’s accommodation: a common room that doubled as the meeting room, the mess, and the ship’s office. It connected to a hallway leading to the passengers’ cabins, and another to the kitchen where a rustling told them Derek was currently making breakfast.

In the looks department it wasn’t too bad looking. The usual balsa wood panels occupied the walls, their varnished colors pairing decently with the thin carpet and its navy/gold diamond pattern. Furniture was rather sparse, what with the weight saving requirements of an airship, but it did feature things like a dining table, a well-crafted library and even a couple couches in a ‘lounge’ of sorts, separated by a curtain from the rest of the room. Light streamed in from a pair of portholes pointing forward, as well as one ceiling window under which hung a small chandelier.

And then there was a ladder in the back of the room, one hatch leading up to the weather deck, another leading down to the holds.

Sirocco was very different from most cargo vessels, or even most airships. As Elaena had told Alejandro earlier, she was not meant to carry vast amounts of cargo. Her net payload of 16 tons was still but a sixth of what purely cargo airships could carry. No, what she specialized in was high-value cargo.

She was much faster than the 60 knots average of other airships, and she also flew much higher than they could thanks to her ability to pressurize her crew cabin –though for reasons pertaining accurate navigation, she preferred to fly below the cloud cover-. She could safely cruise at 90 knots far above whatever threats could go after her precious cargo.

And if anything somehow managed to follow her that high? Push the engines to full ahead and reach 120 knots. Anything that could manage that would have to be small enough to be vulnerable to the breech-loaders above the cockpit.

And then she even had a bit of extra utility. Despite being built with a single-parrot crew in mind, Sirocco packed six extra cabins in her accommodation. With her speed, Elaena sometimes managed to attract a small crowd of rich entrepreneurs that needed to get from one continent to another fast. Something she was all too glad to charge them for.

Two of these passenger cabins were now taken up by Derek and Armiger, with the gargoyle greeting them with a wave as he emerged out of the kitchen, one bowl of porridge in hand and a magic manual stuck under his armpit.

“Morning lovebirds.”

“Morning Fireburst.” Elaena greeted back. “That’s odd; I’d expect Armiger to be here right now.”

“I take it you didn’t hear the outburst then?” Derek said, taking a seat on a bench by the long table that occupied the center of the room.

“Beg your pardon?”

“He left in a huff when he realized the water tank was empty, complained he couldn’t manage a good day’s work without proper care to his fur.”

“Wait so where did he go?” Alej’ asked.

“Either Rhine or Amandine, probably to ask access to a bathroom or something.” Derek shrugged.

“Never knew the guy was some kind of prima donna.” The Spaniard’s ears twitched in amusement.

“Not really, he’s actually pretty decent as far as nobles go.” Derek told. “It’s just typical of Abyssinians like him to care for their fur.”

“Like parrots and our feathers?”

“Not like that at all.” Elaena shook her head vehemently. “We do that and all the dyes and bright colors to look nice. Abyssinians use their fur as… sort of like a societal code? The way they brush and style it is like a body language that reflects their social status, their political opinions, marital status and even more…” She explained, one talon drawing circles in the air. “… frankly speaking, I don’t care about it at all, way too complex for me. Nobles like him though? It’s basically an obligation, just to not be treated as a pariah.”

“Interesting. Never figured it could be that complex.”

“With most races it doesn’t get that complicated.” Derek pointed out, porridge-filled spoon in hand. “Subtleties like that are a strictly Abyssinian thing. See, their magic…” He started between two spoonfuls. “… it’s mostly passive. They have this extreme sensibility to the flow of magic with their brain. It can go a number of ways really, because we don’t fully understand the brain and few species have their foci in their brain.”

“Unicorns?”

“Horns, not brains. It’s close, and linked near-directly to it, but still a separate organ.”

“So what does it change?”

It all depended on the individual actually. Most Abyssinians turned out to be empaths, one assumed reason behind their success as a trade nation. It was also what lead to that culture of subtlety (and guile, depending on which species you asked), their society evolving with the fact that most of them could perceive subtle cues and small changes in each others’ emotions.

There were even tales of groups of Abyssinian scholars honing their empathy to the point where they mastered a form of telepathy. That, however, had never been confirmed by the Abyssinian Crown.

Of course in other cases it went a different way. Abyssinians that didn’t have any innate empathy developed a different form of magical sensitivity.

The Nine Lives was its street name. A form of prescience with varying degrees of intensity. Sometimes it manifested itself as an actual form of precognition –albeit rarely-, though it more often led to a short-term version where the Abyssinian developed a ‘sixth-sense’, in a fashion. It made them able to sense threats, predict movements in a fight, or even dodge projectiles.

Needless to say, most of their armed forces were prescient Abyssinians, empaths being more suited to civilian life. As far as Derek knew, the King himself was a prescient, while the Queen was an empath.

“Makes them infuriating to spar against.” Elaena told Alej’ after coming back from the kitchen with two servings of dried fruits mixed with seeds.

“You know you can just force them into something they can’t dodge, right?” Derek pointed out.

“Contrarily to you, mage, I can’t just toss a fireball in the fray and call it a day.”

“What about Armiger?” Alej’ asked.

Elaena paused between two bites of her breakfast.

“Not sure. Never sparred against him and that’s always the best way to figure which type they actually are.” She frowned in thought, her ears lowering as she did that. “Don’t quote me on that, but I think he’s a prescient. Cat guy may insist on the subtle codes of his species but he doesn’t seem to like doing it.”

“Yeah, I’d assume the prescients wouldn’t be too fond of all the codes the majority of the species presents as tradition.”

“Can’t tell, I ain’t Abyssinian. Must be annoying living in a world where you’re expected to pick up on cues you can’t even sense.” She mumbled.

The rest of the breakfast was spent in silence, with Derek making a point of avoiding looking at the two avians across the table who were both a bit close to each other.

“Greetings everyone.” Dilip began as the projector next to him turned on. “Today we are going to review next week’s expedition schedule. Now that the works on Rhine Forest are winding down, we’ve reached a point where most of the stuff we wanted in Copenhagen has been secured and possible threats within the city limits have been eliminated.”

And that included an unfortunate encounter an art retrieval team had had with a runaway herd of rhinos. He didn’t know which was worse: the damage done to one of their unimogs (which, though fixable, had Scarface swear profusely at the amount of work), or the fact they shot an endangered species so many times they weren’t sure whether it died of bullet damage or lead poisoning.

“If anyone has any objections towards the presence of our… otherworldly allies, please air your grievances now.”

The Diamond Dog ended that sentence just as he was lifting his eyes up from his notes to look at the assembled group.

In front of him, a wide variety of species were sitting here and there at tables inside Amandine’s cafeteria. Some Officers, but there were also many curious ratings and even Rhine’s half-dozen cadets sitting together in one corner of the room –including the injured one splayed across the back of one impala centaur mare-. All of the Equestrians were there too, as well as Sirocco’s crew.

Their presence went uncontested, though a few sailors cast annoyed glares in Armiger’s general direction, which the noble promptly ignored.

“Now, several long range expeditions have appeared on our radar. I’ll start off with the easy one…” Dilip said before lifting up a small printed list for all to see.

“I have here an empty roster for an expedition aimed at retrieving a fleet of boats for Rhine Forest, commanded by Chief Barge Officer Amadi. We’re looking at several sorties towards Odense and its surroundings, maybe even Sweden, with requirements for several barge pilots, drivers, and guards –preferably veterans-. Any slot that is not filled by tomorrow evening will be picked at random among competent crewmembers.”

A hand –or hoof, rather- went up in the crowd, belonging to a white appaloosa unicorn stallion with bronze spots and mane. The flag patch on his white coveralls –an addition some sailors had taken to wearing after raiding a sewing shop- depicted him as a German from Rhine.

“Ordinary Seaman Diethelm, Barge Department, sir. Can we… alter an expedition’s course? To get something else while we’re on the way.”

“Looking for something in particular sailor?”

“Yes sir. A farm, looking for horseshoes.”

“We can help with that.” Cheese Cake interjected.

Dilip raised a paw to stop the lanky mare before she could start a rant.

“Thank you Miss Cake, but I think this matter may be addressed later.” He apologized before turning his eyes to the unicorn stallion that had asked the first question. “As for altering an expedition’s planned route, then yes, you may. But, any change has to be approved by the supervising Officer. Understood?”

The seaman lowered his hoof and Dilip watched Cheese slip him a note in her telekinesis. Partial as he may be about allowing crewmembers to flick around the countryside picking up stuff they wanted… both he and Raimund felt it necessary to let them.

They couldn’t exactly pay them, Euros, Crowns, Dollars, all that money might as well be toilet paper. Maybe once they started connecting colonies and trading resources they’d be able to give each sailor a share of the profits… but that might take months before trading could become a reality.

“Back to the original subject.” He coughed. “Let’s move on to expedition number two: Gothenburg.”

The riskiest, by far. They still had the bridge’s CCTV recordings showing pictures of the murky gas cloud floating above the city like a deadly blanket. It may have been weeks since they passed next to the harbor and spotted the cloud, but that didn’t necessarily mean the gas would be gone.

“Sir, why are we even considering going there?!” It was Carlos; the Filipino cockatoo who had up until then been sitting next to Danny had stood up in protest. “We all saw the cloud over the city, and I don’t think I’m the only one here thinking there are dozens of other cities we could scavenge from!”

“That is true. However, the expedition to Gothenburg is no mere scavenger hunt.” The Diamond Dog calmly explained before half-turning towards Sidereal. “Doctor Venture, if you’d please explain?”

With a curt nod, the mare stood up and moved in front of the assembled crowd.

“It is a recent discovery we made yesterday while scanning the flow of magic using mage sight.” She began. “I was looking in the general direction of Narvik –what for, we’ll explain later- when I spotted a… blob of sorts at a range that put it in the vicinity of Gothenburg’s harbor. The magical signature appears to match that of a survivor group.”

“How big a group?”

“Along the lines of 20-30 individuals.” Sidereal stated. “It’s the same system I used to locate your group. With so few sentient beings around detecting the natural magic production that’s the signature of… terran lifeforms I guess? I mean, with so few creatures around, any survivor that reappears stands out rather starkly against background magic, particularly considering you produce magic in addition to processing it unlike us on Equus.”

“We believe that with such a grouping, it’s possible for a vehicle filled with survivors –a bus, a tramway car, a small ferry even- to have reappeared. I don’t think survivors reappearing on foot would survive the gas, but with the protection of a vehicle, they might.”

“So that’s a rescue mission.” A red kite griffon in the back concluded, Valentyn, Rhine’s Second Engineer.

“Correct.” Dilip confirmed. “We need to find them, and get them out of Gothenburg. It’s no immediate departure since we have to make sure all of our chemsuits are properly fitted for whoever volunteers for that expedition, so I expect a departure within… three days, give or take.”

Which also included giving Bart enough time to finish training the Piranha drivers. They may have started training them, but that didn’t mean their performances were actually any good at the moment. That and they didn’t really have any other vehicle that was both CBRN-protected and capable of getting to Gothenburg and back on one tank.

The CV90 had the protection, sure, but it would have run out of fuel just as it was reaching the target city. Towing a 35-ton IFV out of a toxic gas cloud wasn’t really on his bucket list.

“Considering the important nature of that expedition, I’m assigning Chief Engineer Schmitt as Expedition Leader. We still need one Medical Officer and another Officer -or Engineer- to fill the lead slots. That is up to you to volunteer for.”

In fact there weren’t even that many ‘free’ slots on the roster considering the rescue team would have to bring Sidereal –and probably another Equestrian- along just to locate the survivors. The mare herself would need some training to use a chemsuit with a SCBA.

To make things worse, they only really had two Medical Officers and one of them was still injured, so that really was a ‘choice’ in name only. Come to think of it, with Marta, Boris and Camille still injured, Vadim was the only healthy medical personnel they had left. They’d need him to take care of the survivors.

“Now let’s move on to the last expedition…” Dilip said, the dog throwing a side glance towards where Elaena and Sirocco’s crew were sitting… and Alejandro as well apparently, the Spaniard having an arm around Elaena’s shoulders.

Frankly speaking, he wasn’t even surprised considering Alej’s reputation.

“Narvik.” He stated simply. “By now, most of you should probably be familiar with our latest hypothesizes regarding archeology and ley lines. Narvik appears to be the site of the closest convergence point, which is why Captain Ceylan here has volunteered her vessel for the expedition. Be aware, this will be the furthest expedition we’ve ever done, by far. Captain Ceylan, if you have anything to add?”

Elaena stood up slowly before moving to join Dilip in front of the crowd, a confident smile on her beak. She began reciting the usual: required personnel for the expedition, expected departure –two days from then- and expected duration.

Sirocco also needed to be properly prepped for the expedition. They would have to do a transfer of hydraulic fluid and fresh water to fill her tanks. She would have also liked to bunker on some coal slurry -the fuel Sirocco’s burners ran on-, but it was pretty clear she wouldn’t find any in Copenhagen.

Charts too was something she needed. And there they ran into an obstacle: they didn’t have any aeronautical charts. Ground charts, highway maps, city plans, nautical charts, sure.

But nothing an aircraft could use. Using a ground chart would have been ill-advised, what with the mountain ranges that ran across the entirety of Norway. Not knowing where or how high the mountains exactly were, that was just asking for trouble.

But they had a couple days to figure it out before leaving at least.

The objective was straightforward at least: fly to Narvik, let Derek use mage sight to locate the convergence point, do some observations and maybe find some artifacts to analyze. What they knew about the ley lines at the moment was entirely based on assumptions; they needed actual data if they wanted to figure out what lead to the present situation.

Another thing Dilip wouldn’t say out loud was that he needed to keep Sirocco away from Copenhagen for now. He couldn’t allow the HPI to find out about the aliens on their own terms, so that meant the expedition wouldn’t even be bringing a satellite phone along.

GPS was fine though, being a passive device. So were radios, some of which would soon be fitted to Sirocco. Provided whoever was operated the radio kept an eye on the frequency, it was highly unlikely they would accidentally broadcast far enough to be heard by the HPI agents all the way in America.

Or by the Asian facility either. Eko wasn’t really forthcoming about that one.

Aleksei never was much good at coding.

She had no trouble admitting to it. The skill always took second place to her role as Amandine’s Third Engineer, and she had received very little in the way of formal training prior to the Event.

Unfortunately, it didn’t really matter whether she was good at it or not at the moment. Just that she could do it, something very few people in the fleet could boast about. Micha could code too, but she was even worse than her –if such a thing was even possible-.

The griffon had come to her weeks ago with her problem about creating a conversion algorithm for the radio log. Put it in a format where they could actually read and analyze it, just so they could take a look at the background noise that had occurred prior to the Event. Vadim had been pretty clear about it: he had caught a lot of static on all frequencies before the Event whisked the ship away and propelled them a few hours into the future.

The last few weeks of work on that pet project had been… unfruitful, to put it mildly. But now that she had a code repository to base herself on, the Latvian was advancing by leaps and bounds in a matter of hours. Sure, the conversion algorithm was about ten times the size it should have been if created by a competent coder, and it was probably three times as slow, but at least her earlier tests on a few samples showed it worked.

She caught the sounds of hoofsteps entering the engine control room before she could finally start the conversion process on the radio log.

“Hej, you weren’t there for the expedition briefings?” Sandra’s accented voice pierced through the constant rumbling of the generators just as the batpony came down the stairs.

“What for? I’ll be staying here anyway. Not much to do besides letting the paint dry on Rhine and keeping the generators running.” Aleksei grumbled before inviting the shorter pony to sit down beside her.

She might have to tidy up the control room after her coding spree though. There were notes and manuals lying here and there across the command consoles and on the ground, with her chair in the center of the whole mess. Sandra awkwardly hopped from one free spot on the ground to another before fluttering her wings and joining her by the central console.

“So watcha doing here?” She asked, the little pony peering over the console at the engine room below, through the observation window.

“Just coding. Our little expedition at the tech company finally allowed me to finish my project.” The light green hippogriff explained, waving her talons over to her laptop. “I was just about to run the algorithm one last time.”

Strictly speaking she didn’t need to code down here in the engine room. She just preferred doing it because she could work on it during her watches and very few crewmembers ever came down there without a reason.

With a theatrical tap of her talon, Aleksei finally pressed the button that would set the code in motion. As a testament to the inefficiency of the whole thing, a loading bar immediately appeared in the middle of the screen, the laptop’s cooling fans starting to whirr in protest at the load she was putting on the hardware.

“Sounds like a complicated program you’re running.” Sandra commented.

“It really isn’t.” She sighed. “I’m just that bad. At least now we will know what went on on the radio when the Event struck.”

“So that’s a radio recording! You should have told me, I can help analyze that if you want. It’s my job after all.”

“Eh, why not. We’ll see if that’s necessary.”

After a minute of awkwardly staring at the loading bar in silence, the algorithm finally finished processing the data and spat out a neatly compressed file. Aleksei eagerly opened it with her audio player, its flashy menu appearing on screen…

Only for the program to start replaying some garbled screech mixed with static that sounded like someone was rubbing nails against a blackboard while torturing a litter of disabled kittens.

At least that’s what it sounded like to the hippogriff, her ears flat against her skull at the sound. Once the recording finished playing, Sandra watched her sag in her seat before half-collapsing against the command console with the lower mandible of her beak quivering.

“Seventy hours…” Aleksei whispered, looking forlornly at the display on the laptop. “I clocked seventy hours of work trying to wade through the code, went back through at least a dozen manuals, mustered an expedition just to get a repository to make the algorithm… and that’s what I get?” The last sentence was said in such a low tone Sandra had to take off her headphones to catch it, and there may have been a few swear words in Latvian inserted here and there.

“Al’?” Sandra prodded the near-catatonic Engineer with a hoof. “Al’, it’s alright. You didn’t fail.”

The hippogriff didn’t move, except for a subtle twitching in her ears that invited the batpony to tell more.

“I can take it from here.” She comforted the Engineer. “It may get a bit complicated, but your recording is repeating every frequency at once on the same document. I have a program to do that on my laptop, so if you give me a copy, I can start trimming off the ‘human’ frequencies since we probably won’t care about maritime broadcasts, then I can isolate the real electromagnetic burst from the background noise, identify the exact waves, and if I’m lucky I might even be able to wade through all the encryption.”

“Wait, encryption?” Aleksei suddenly raised her head and turned towards Sandra. “Where did you even learn about that?”

“I have weird pastimes, and a weirder special talent.” Was all the batpony said. “Let’s leave it at that. You’ve done your part, now it’s my turn to pick up the torch, and it’s best left to professionals, ok?”

“Fine… I’ll make you a copy.”

But before she could reach for her laptop, a dark purple hoof slammed it shut.

“Later.” Sandra stopped her, a grin appearing on her muzzle.

Had it not been for her quite unsettling row of fangs, the expression wouldn’t have looked out of place on the Cheshire Cat. The fangs and slitted yellow eyes instead looked disturbingly out of place on the shorter batpony.

“Work can wait. I came down here for a reason you know.” Sandra whispered, leaning ever closer to the hippogriff.

“… yes?” Aleksei hesitated, not knowing whether to look like a deer caught in the headlights or the subject of a weird friend’s antics.

“Can you play billiard?”

“What?”

“Billiard. Snooker. Pool. Whatever you call it.” She mimicked holding a cue in her wings and hitting a ball. “They’re holding a contest on Rhine Forest since they looted a table for their rec room, and I hereby enlist your assistance.”

“You can play pool?”

“I… honestly I’m terrible.” Sandra smiled sheepishly. “But I convinced Sri to hang out with me for the contest and we need a third member on the team. I think we hit it off decently on your expedition.”

“I basically called you a slut and told you off for flirting with crewmembers.” Aleksei deadpanned.

“Frankness! Frimodighed! That’s what I need in a friend!” Sandra exclaimed before throwing a hoof around her neck. “Somebody who’s not afraid of telling the truth.”

Aleksei just blinked.

“Come on!” Sandra let out a whinny. “I’ve been looking around, everyone on board at least hangs around with someone.”

“Are you taking pity on me? I have friends on board I’ll have you know!”

“Really? Find me somebody you can hang out with on shore leave.”

Aleksei straightened up in her seat and crossed her arms in a huff.

“Micha for one.”

“Busy dating Vadim while Rahul watches Andy.”

“Angelo and Carlos.”

“One is playing videogames; the other already made a team with Danny and John for the contest.”

John being number three of the trio of Filipinos they had on the crew. Their resident plumber had become a pale yellow hippogriff mare, if a bit on the short side (though what with how tall hippogriffs were among quadrupeds, it wasn’t even that short).

“Ajit!”

Sandra actually laughed at that.

“Try again! Even if he wasn’t a Diamond Dog, the guy’s still like a puppy: friends with everyone. Hence: doesn’t count.”

“Fine.” Aleksei relented with a roll of her eyes. “I’ll come and play pool. How did you even make friends with Sri anyway? No offense but except for the other vets she’s a bit of a shut-in.”

“Same as I did with you: push through even if it pisses you off.” Sandra grinned. “Had to get help from Artyom to pry her open, but I managed to barter her out of her cabin.”

Which involved having the rest of the veterans take part in the contest. Bart, Artyom and Scarface were on another team, Artyom having made up an excuse about putting one pony per team so everyone had to make do with hooves.

Artyom himself recognized it wasn’t healthy for the Indonesian to solely hang around with the veterans. She needed another friend group, just so she wouldn’t start seeing only in shades of grey from the sheer amount of ruggedness and gruffness of the veterans.

That last part being Sandra’s extrapolation.

Probably. With magic in the equation that might actually happen. She was pretty sure she had seen an angry sailor expel steam from his ears at one point…

“Wait, you’re just creating your own circle of friends on the crew now.”

“Ja, and what’s wrong with that?” Sandra cocked her head smugly.

Aleksei pinched her beak and let out a sigh.

“We hired a social engineer… fantastisks.”

“Just try to find something to wear that’s not a set of coveralls.” Sandra called over her shoulder as she hopped off her seat and made for the stairs. “Even if it’s just a track suit at least it’s not those orange coveralls.”

“What’s wrong with our coveralls now?”

“That you all look like escaped convicts, that’s what. See you in the evening!”

The Latvian decided to let it slide and just rolled her eyes. No sense explaining to the Dane how important high-vis clothing was when someone fell overboard.

Now did she remember to retrofit her regular clothes?

A knock on the door.

“Come in.” Josselin called over his desk, the unicorn momentarily pushing aside the files he had been going through.

He was in his cabin working his way through his daily paperwork. The standard fare, nothing unusual. His role as Rhine Forest’s Third Officer made him responsible for the maintenance of all the firefighting equipment and other life-saving appliances like the lifeboats.

The former in particular was proving to be rather troublesome. While Amandine may have been able to provide blueprints to adapt their SCBA’s to their new forms –something which mostly involved turning the gas masks into a one-size-fits-all version that worked for muzzles, beaks, snouts and all else-, firemen’s suits and chemsuits were something else. That was mostly owed to the centaurs. Quadrupeds like ponies and griffons could be given roughly the same type of suits –provided the ponies tightened the straps-; Diamond Dogs could roughly fit in the same suits used by parrots, hedgefogs and Abyssinians.

But the damn centaurs? Sure minotaurs were a problem too with their sheer size, but there were only two of them in the entire fleet. Centaurs though? Thirteen. And until he found a solution to the problem of fitting them with proper protective clothing, that would be thirteen souls that could not be assigned to damage control parties if worst came to worst.

His door opened and in shuffled his new visitor. Rear half first actually, as he was greeted to the sight of half an impala backing into his cabin. Speaking of centaurs here was one.

Which brought him to another one of his duties. Him being the lowest-ranked Deck Officer on the Rhine, the French stallion had been saddled –pun intended- with managing and evaluating the Deck Cadets. The other Officers helped sometimes, giving the cadets a lesson or two, but he was the one who kept track of every evaluation they took and decided their work schedules.

There were three Deck Cadets on board, exactly as many as they had Engine Cadets: Carla and Sebastien, the two Belgians that found the roles in their couple reversed, and then…

Asha. The youngest of the three at eighteen-years old. And, at least according to Josselin, the most controversial.

The controversy wasn’t because she was a centaur, nor a mare, nor was it because she was Congolese. Well, actually it kinda was, but for matters of ethics. It went back to before the Event and Rhine’s planned role as an offshore support vessel.

See, the Nigerian company that had bought the vessel and ordered them to sail to Lagos actually wanted them to be able to operate around the entirety of the Gulf of Guinea. The problem was… offshore industries tend to be intrinsically protectionist. Meaning if you wanted to operate inside a country’s EEZ for offshore work, you had to employ a certain number of locals.

Granted, Asha wasn’t the only Congolese present on board, but she was the most concerning of them. At least in Josselin’s opinion. The others were all certified ratings, already experienced and used to the industry. Her on the other… hoof, she had just completed her first year of maritime academy. An education that was paid for by… roll-of-the-drum… Rhine’s operator.

Unlike the others, she couldn’t have ‘rolled with the blow’ if the company decided they didn’t need her anymore. Worse even, had it not been for the Event they could have very well decided to cut funding while she was still studying and even demand the money back.

“Sir?” Asha interrupted his thoughts.

Josselin shook off his train of thought and jerked his head back towards the Cadet. No sense wondering about the ethics of what could have been. Now they were all just stuck together, for better or for worse.

It was a testament to centaurs’ height that even though Asha was laying down on her side with her impala half, she was still easily a head taller than the unicorn stallion who was sitting on his haunches in his chair.

“My excuses Asha, I’ve got a lot on my mind as of late.” Josselin apologized before pulling out a couple files in his telekinesis, including her Cadet Training Record Book. “It’s for your weekly evaluation, right?”

“Aye sir.” She nodded.

“Please don’t ‘sir’ me. I’m not even 30 and you haven’t done anything that warrants calling me that either.” He chuckled. “Just call me Josselin, everyone does.”

Actually it was his surname, but he never bothered correcting anyone. He wasn’t too fond of his first name.

“Understood.” She nodded firmly.

Josselin idly took note of how she was wringing her frizzy ponytail in her hands, ears held low.

“Anything you need to tell me?” The brown-furred stallion quirked an eyebrow at her.

“It’s about my weekly projects…” The wringing of the ponytail continued. “… I got help doing it.”

Guilt now?

“What kind of help?” Josselin asked cautiously, already pulling one of the projects out of her files.

Nothing too important. Cadets had to complete certain basic tasks during training. Draw a cross-section of the ship, list all life-saving appliances, draw a plan of the bridge… Simple things that ensured they were familiar with the vessel they sailed on and routine operations.

“I asked the other cadets for advice.” She blurted out, not making eye contact.

“Advice? Only advice?”

“Yes, I asked them how they did the tasks.”

Josselin sighed.

“Look Asha, there’s nothing wrong with asking for advice. I’ll admit I’d prefer if you asked regular personnel instead of your fellow cadets, but I think I can let it slide since they’re a couple years ahead of you in their education. What does matter is that you do not plagiarize their projects. Projects for which –I must stress- it’s perfectly normal to ask around for information.”

Honestly he’d be more worried if she came to him with the cargo procedures without having asked around.

Unfounded guilt aside, there wasn’t much he could tell her about training that week. She was dutiful in her studies, nobody had any remarks against her and she even got good marks after a test on signal flags he had asked the bosuns to have the cadets take.

“Asha?”

“Yes sir?”

“Josselin. It’s Josselin.” He insisted.

“Yes Josselin?” She repeated, if a bit shyly.

“I hope you are aware that with the… turn of events our new situation brings, your education may take a different turn. There will be no going back to an academy for regular lessons and exams, not anytime soon.” The stallion said, making a show of flipping through her Cadet Training Record Book. “You of all Cadets will be the most affected. Carla and Sebastien were already done with most of their studies but you… I expect you’ll be one of the first Officers in a long time to have a mostly hands-on education.”

“I’m not sure where you’re going…”

“That it will take longer before we deem you ready to swap your Cadet ranks for those of a proper Officer.” Josselin stated. “I will have to come up with a rearranged training program to make up for the lack of academics, and you’ll have to understand that my duties will take precedence over your education.”

He paused to check if this was all getting through. After getting a meek nod from the impala centaur, he continued.

“To that extent, you –as well as the other cadets- will be given new duties. The Captain has already approved the motion, so here I have yours.” He told her, his telekinesis carrying a thin folder over to her.

She snatched it out of the air and took a look at the title.

“Hydroponics sir?”

“Josselin.” He corrected. “The idea came from Chief Officer Wetzel. With the addition of the container bay we’ll be adding a number of compartments to our vessel. It’s no big thing really: a workshop there, the hydroponics, the armory. You catch my drift. That’s where you Cadets come in play. You’re going to be in charge of those ‘mini-departments’ if you will. Of course you’ll still have navigational duties and your lessons, but we’re thinking long-term now.”

“That I understand… but why the hydroponics? I thought Doctor Delacroix wanted to take care of them.”

“A last minute adjustment. Tell me Asha: are you aware of your new species latent ability?”

“I… I’m not.” She shook her head.

“Then I believe an explanation is in order.” Josselin smiled before he slid her yet another file.

Actually assigning her to the hydroponics made sense when you accounted for the fact she was a centaur. The reason being that, in some respects, centaurs were pretty similar to Earth Ponies. Both species shared a… connection of sort to the land and plant life thanks to their magic. Their presence alone could be a tremendous help to fertility, they made plants grow faster, they made crops healthier, and their care could turn the most barren of soils into a lush oasis.

Centaurs were sort of a mix between minotaurs and Earth Ponies in a fashion. A heavyweight species with quite a bit of strength and just a touch of magic.

Asha wasn’t the only centaur cadet, but the other one being an engineering cadet made it preferable to assign her to the hydroponics. She was scheduled to take some lessons on agronomy from Pulp Orange later that week, just so she would know what exactly she would have to do.

Josselin was confident being responsible for a small section of the ship’s operations would have a positive effect on the cadets. They would have the opportunity to oversee operations while still remaining in reach of Senior Officers who could step in if need be. Might also be their first confrontation with the eldritch beast that went by the name of paperwork. That was an enemy every Officer had to face eventually. Really, they were doing the cadets a favor.

It took but a few days to get the expeditions ready. The one headed for Narvik was the first to leave.

Modifying Sirocco for the expedition didn’t even take that long. They unloaded anything they didn’t really need: most of the biology manuals, books and documents meant to for the survivors; the alchemical gear that they proceeded to move to Rhine’s new labs.

Of course they didn’t unload everything. Some of the stuff in Sirocco’s holds was also meant for other survivors the aliens may find once they moved on. They also kept their supplies and filled up the airship’s tanks.

Sirocco’s mast also received the addition of a couple radio antennas, along with a GPS receiver to help them in their voyage. The chart problem was eventually solved by deciding to follow nautical charts and go around the mountains, along the Norse shore. It wasn’t ideal by any stretch of imagination; in fact it made the travel length jump from seven hundred to just over a thousand nautical miles.

Luckily Sirocco was a pretty fast ship. By Alejandro’s reckoning the airship should be able to get to Narvik under twelve hours, provided the winds were favorable.

And he’d be coming along.

Dilip wasn’t particularly enthused at the prospect of his Chief Officer leaving on an expedition, but the Spaniard felt compelled to point out he wasn’t really needed on Amandine. Not until they sailed out.

“I know why you’re doing this.” The Indian said as the two of them were watching the last preparations for the expedition.

Mikhail from Rhine Forest would accompany them. The Ukrainian assigned as guard to cover their back was now in the process of loading a couple ammo crates on board of the airship, along with a dismantled .50 cal to complement her breech-loaders.

“Do you?” The parrot smiled, rolling his shoulder to adjust the strap of his seabag.

“Please, I know what you and Elaena have been doing.”

“Aye, and what’s wrong with that?”

“She’s an alien Alej’. At some point, you two will have to part ways.”

“We know.” Alej’ smiled. “This ain’t gonna be a problem. That’s not the first time I’m having that kind of relationship Dilip, and I find it all the better. It’s not aimed at lasting, we’re just cruising on the honeymoon phase, and we’ll leave it at that when we part ways. I’ve done, I’m doing it, and I’ll keep doing that in the future.”

“If you’re so sure… then I can’t really stop you.” The Diamond Dog ran a paw across his muzzle with a sigh. “Be careful out there. You got your sat phone?”

“In my seabag. Anything bad happens, I’ll turn it on and call.”

“Prioritize the radio.”

“I know. The moment I turn it on, they will know we’ve been doing stuff behind their back. I won’t use it unless absolutely necessary. But…”

“We will tell them, eventually. I’d just rather they didn’t look into it too much, they will know about it once the Equestrians leave and we sold them the data they had.” Dilip promised. “I know we’re threading the needle.”

“Damn right we are.”

He was about to add something about the HPI when their discussion was stopped by the arrival of Geert. The scarlet macaw hobbled in their direction with her cane, a chart tube stuck under one arm.

“All the charts for your voyage. All tracks are already drawn, with waypoints set on clear landmarks. Can’t miss them from the air, and even if you do I put countdowns between each waypoint so you know when to turn.” She immediately began, holding out the chart tube to Alejandro.

“Thanks, that’s going to save me a lot of time.” He accepted the charts with a smile before eying the cane she was resting her weight on. “Still held back by your hip, uh?”

“Dislocated hips take time Chief.” The scarlet macaw winced. “I can put some weight on it, but not to the point where I can go a day without my cane.”

“On the bright side it gives you a classy style.” Alejandro comforted her before smoothing his crest and looking off in Sirocco’s direction.

Mikhail was done with the weapons, the purple dragon now waiting for him by the ramp, seabag over his shoulder and claws on his hips.

With him, they would be the only former humans on board. Elaena had insisted she didn’t need a large team, so Sirocco would only be leaving with her original trio, the two sailors, and Radiant. The Pegasus’ experience with airships being what put him on the roster.

“Right, gotta go…” Alejandro trailed off. “Stay safe you lot, ok?” He concluded, giving Dilip and Geert firm handshakes before jogging over to Sirocco.

Not five minutes later, the Spaniard found himself inside of Sirocco’s cramped cockpit. Elaena was already there in the pilot’s seat, inspecting her instruments and working her way through her preflight checklist.

“All good over there?” He asked her, squeezing past her seat to go hang the first chart on a cork board on the port wall.

“Instruments are alright. Wasted a bit of time readjusting the compass to the local poles but it should be fine. Got a bit of a worry with accuracy since we’re going pretty far North, but it should do it.”

“Yeah, normally we’d use a gyrocompass this far North to avoid the magnetic/geographic difference but Sirocco just couldn’t fit one.” He commented while placing the pins to keep the chart on the board.

This was only the first one they would be using for that voyage. All the rest were still a deck below in the chart room. You always have to use the chart with the largest scale available, which is exactly why they wound up with two dozen of them prepped for the voyage.

The charts weren’t the only thing to navigate by, of course. Outfitting Sirocco with a proper ECDIS was impossible, but they had managed to rig her with a small GPS screen that showed their coordinates without leeching off of the airship’s pretty limited acid-lead batteries.

Elaena decided to hang the instrument next to her altitude gauge.

Radiant was on board as well. The Pegasus was busy inspecting the two steam engines that powered Sirocco’s propeller, back in the aft section of each of her two balloons. Interesting machines as they were: high pressure engines that ran on coal-water slurry. Alejandro was a bit… partial to say the least about the idea of powering an airship with a steam engine, but Elaena reassured him the system worked just fine.

They might have to refuel on fresh water in Narvik though. And avoid taking too many showers. Hopefully they’d find a source of fresh water; otherwise they might have a lot of work ahead of them with the reverse-osmosis pump.

“Eh Captain.” Radiant’s voice echoed through the starboard speaking tube. “Engines are A-Okay, but what do I do about the gas bladders?”

“Leave ‘em.” Elaena quickly said. “That gas ain’t any kind of tech an Equestrian like you would know about. They’re fine, last overhaul was a month ago.”

And the gasbags may actually be the most interesting piece of tech on Sirocco. Each of her two balloons held about twenty of them, and they contained a very peculiar mixture of gases. Plural that is.

See, the trick was that they didn’t carry just any kind of gases. They weren’t just lighter than air, that wouldn’t have been enough. They were a rare (and expensive!) kind of magically-infused substances produced via alchemy that also generated an upwards force.

A force Elaena could control with a bit of trickery, which she did once the flight checks were complete, sailors from all around the docks gathering to see her take off.

With a flick of her talons, Elaena started explaining in detail to the attentive Alejandro (the male parrot uncomfortably squeezed between the chart and the pilot’s chair) how each gas bag was fitted with a solenoid around it. She needed to run some current through them to ‘activate’ the gases inside.

Once the current was on, she could do one of two things: heat them up or cool them using Sirocco’s cool and hot water circuits. Changing the temperature of the gasbags while they were ‘active’ would change the upwards force by a factor far higher than the change in lift caused by the temperature changes. This was all thanks to the control she had over the chemical equilibrium inside, something she could easily lock down by turning off the solenoids. One gas in the reaction had downward lift, the other giving upwards lift, she just had to manage the ratio carefully.

Which was exactly how Sirocco managed her altitude without resorting to ballast or venting gases, and this was exactly how they took off.

In her seat, Elaena carefully steered the airship away from the harbor’s cranes as they started climbing, Alejandro’s ears quickly popping from the change in altitude. The ships and sailors below them shrunk down in size until they reached an altitude of a thousand meters. Then, the female parrot gave a satisfied nod before flicking a few controls to stabilize their altitude. She shut off the current in the solenoids to ‘lock’ the airship at the right altitude before he talons wrapped themselves around the engine telegraph.

With a rumble of her engines, Sirocco sped away from Copenhagen. Headed North. To Narvik.

Author's Note

I think I nailed down an interesting technique with Sirocco's gas bags. Balloon to canopy ratio of Equestrian airships appears too small just for lighter-than-air lift to be sufficient in most cases. If you compare the ratio of Graf Zeppelin to that of a Storm Airship, it does seem a bit too small, even with Helium.

Which brings me to the next concept: magically-imbued materials. Can't make up new elements, so they'd have to be like isotopes. Elements that, when exposed to high magic flows, take on new properties. In Sirocco's case, it's a simple force, up or down depending on the gas ratio.

Paired with magnetic cathalysis, feeding the gas bag energy or taking energy from it (heat) will influence the chemical equilibrium inside, thus controlling 'lift'. The technique most certainly isn't the only one on Equus by a long shot -particularly considering electricity and induction must be primitive at their tech level-, but it's one that fits the kind of ship I wished Sirocco to be.

As for the 'magical isotopes' (I know they're not isotopes but can't think of a better name), I'd wager they start appearing after long term or intense exposure to magic flow, already present on Equus, but not on Earth save for convergence points where the field is strong enough to force their appearance.

Their existence in trace amounts in a compound would probably also cause what the likes of the HPI would classify as 'residual thaumic contamination'. A significant problem in their case, even more so in the long run.

Guess I should stop rambling now. Have a nice week folks!

Chapter 41: WSU Radio

High above the skies of the Kattegat, an airship was seen speeding north, flying just below the cloud cover. Drizzle pelted the myriad of small windows that made up the cockpit, a soothing noise for the nerves of Elaena.

She was still secured tightly in the pilot’s seat, though not for long anymore. She unfastened the webbing straps that were supposed to keep her in place during the worst of maneuvers before running a quick check on the instruments.

Unlike many other airships that had been made with multiple crewmembers in mind, everything on Sirocco was laid out so she could steer her herself from the safety of the cockpit. Brass gauges and instruments were all pointed toward her, with the control levers for the maneuvering fins occupying the center of the layout and the two sticks of the engine telegraph –starboard and portside respectively- on her left armrest.

The controls for the gas bags were on her right, almost integrated to her armrest inside of a marquetry box she knew cost twice as much as all of the other instruments combined. For a reason, because behind the gauges and thin wood of the box rested a set of enchanted crystals that transmitted her crucial information. Namely: the temperature of the boiler, the voltage she had left inside the batteries, and some tank soundings –both for coal slurry and fresh water-… among other things.

The voltage most of all couldn’t be allowed to fall down to zero. If it did, she wouldn’t be able to control her altitude anymore, something that had already happened once back when she wasn’t familiar with the system. Against all logic, Sirocco didn’t have an alternator, mostly because of cost. Acid-lead batteries were all she had.

She had been forced to fly over to the nearest airship dock and use signal flags to request for emergency ballast. The locals Zebricans had not been amused.

Neither was her wallet for that matter.

Glancing up at the compass readout, she quickly made sure she still was on the right track, comparing the number she was seeing to the track on her chart.

She would have to thank the one that had prepared the charts –Geert if she remembered correctly-. The Dutch Officer had gone the extra mile and mapped all chart switches along the track, as well as indicating courses with the local magnetic variation already accounted for, just to spare her the math.

Rather professional for a young Officer.

“All good?” Alejandro’s voice was heard, the hyacinth macaw’s head poking halfway through the hatch behind her.

“All good.” She nodded. “Just gotta keep an hour and a half on that track and we’ll be on the first waypoint.”

Which was just as well for her since that span of time allowed her to get off the pilot’s seat and go grab a snack. She snatched a copper-plated chronometer that had up until then been hanging on a chain attached to the altimeter and motioned for Alejandro to back off a bit.

“I can afford to step off for a bit, she’ll stay her course.” She reassured him after the other parrot threw a concerned glance in the direction of the unoccupied pilot seat.

Saying that she let herself fall down the hatch at the foot of the ladder one deck below.

“Alright… you know if you want I can pick up the helm.” He told her, pressing his back against the bulkhead so she could move past him. The ‘room’ was pretty cramped as is, being near the tip of Sirocco’s ‘neck’.

Come to think of it, that part of the airship did remind him of a tortoise’s neck with the way it extended ahead of the main structure. It may be a bit bulkier than that, with the (small) chart room one deck below the cockpit and Elaena’s cabin one more deck below before rejoining the central structure between the balloons, but Alejandro was pretty sure the main point to that part of the airship was specifically so that the cockpit could see past the balloons.

Still made Sirocco look like a fat turtle though. A flying turtle with oblong balloons on either side of its shell. And no tail. And a belly that hung out below it.

Not really a turtle then.

“I’ll show you how the helm works later.” Elaena clicked her beak before winding up the chronometer in her claws. “For now, I just really need to grab a bite.”

They descended back down in the common room, to be greeted by the sight of the rest of the crew. Radiant was discussing stuff with Mikhail and Armiger in the lounge. Derek was sitting on his own at the dining table, reading.

Elaena didn’t acknowledge any of them, instead moving on towards the kitchen with a purpose in her step.

“How is it going Chief?” Alejandro heard Mikhail call out.

“We’re on track. Give us an hour and a half and we’ll be over Gothenburg.”

“Wait, aren’t we headed for Narvik?” Radiant blinked.

“We are. We’re just flying over the town so we can see whether or not it’s still contaminated by a gas cloud. The guys that are actually going to go there need to know, so they don’t bother with the Piranhas and chemsuits for nothing. Got it?”

“Makes sense.” The Pegasus nodded. “You gonna tell them via radio?”

“Well, duh. What else? Passenger pigeons?” Alejandro almost broke out in a laugh. “We gave you lot a radio for a reason.”

“Yeah, and that’ll cause a stir when we get back to Equus.” Radiant pointed out with a hoof.

“Just like the rest of the stuff we’ll be giving you.”

“Come again?”

“We didn’t tell you? Shit, sorry. I meant to say we’re going to give you copies of blueprints for a lot of the tech Amandine and Rhine Forest use. Combustion engines, induction motors, desalination plants, we even have plans for all the telecommunications tech and some of the more advanced stuff. We kinda owe you a payback for all the books and lessons.” Alejandro said.

Judging by the way his tail moved, the parrot was pretty sure that had Armiger been a cartoon character, he’d have had dollar signs in his eyes. Not without any reasons either: he was pretty sure that anyone bringing back information-era tech to a late industrial-era world (at least that’s what he assumed they were at) could make a pretty penny selling the plans.

Patenting them though… that might have been more profitable, but he doubted the cat could have gotten away with it. A bit too brazen.

But that wasn’t his problem to worry about. The aliens could fight for the plans once they got back to their world for all he cared. They had just brought a measure of equity in the deal.

Elaena came back from the kitchen with a bowl of nuts and a fresh loaf of bread stuck in her beak. She addressed the passengers in the common room a nod before nudging Alej’ in the ribs with her elbow and motioning for him to follow her back up to the cockpit.

They quickly came to an arrangement: the two of them would alternate watches of two hours at the helm until they arrived. Narvik was twelve hours of flight away, not nearly enough to cause the two of them any measure of fatigue. Elaena made use of the first hour of flight before they reached Gothenburg to quickly teach Alej’ how to steer Sirocco properly.

Not such a complicated affair considering Amandine’s Chief Officer only needed to keep her on course. The rudder fins, one ventral and one dorsal aft of each balloon, were what made it possible to change course –though it could also be done by applying different amounts of thrust on port and starboard-. Sirocco also had two pairs of horizontal planes fore and aft that allowed her to make small changes in altitude or even pitch up and down if needed, but they were already good in the altitude department so he wouldn’t need these anyway.

If anything, the complicated part with using the fins correctly was that they weren’t even using hydraulics. Turns out, setting four entirely mechanical cable-driven fins in motion while travelling at the speed of 90 knots required quite a bit of upper body strength, something the male parrot thankfully didn’t lack.

“Ain’t that complicated now is it?” Elaena smiled over his shoulder while keeping an eye on the compass.

“Verticality aside this isn’t too different from a regular ship.” He admitted. “Still, I’m sure I’d do better with a wheel instead of levers. Can’t help but feel they’re a bit counterintuitive.”

“I’m with you on that, but at this point I’ve gotten so used to the lever system there is not point wasting money on a wheel. My sister always puts one on her ships, but sometimes I wonder if she even realizes the difference between an airship and a seagoing ship.”

“You don’t get along much it seems.” The hyacinth macaw commented.

“She has her ideas on how to conduct business and I have mine. We’ve both been in the trade for all our life, learnt from the same parrots and studied in the same place, yet she somehow wound up with delusions about the pirate lifestyle.”

“She went pirate?” Alej’ now sounded a bit alarmed.

“Nah. She barely qualifies as a corsair, even with that stunt she did way back when Equestria was invaded. I’ve always told her to look for the secure and reliable sources of income, but no! Cargo transport is boring and dreary she keeps saying.” Eleana muttered, her raspy voice dripping in contempt.

“So she’s not a pirate, and cargo is not her thing. What does she do?”

“Salvage and archeology, basically. Looks for wrecks, recovers downed airships and, verbatim, looks for booty.”

“You’re shitting me.”

“I wish.”Elaena winced. “Might explain where she got the pirate delusion from though. Girl wouldn’t even look at my yearly figures. She hits dry spells for months at a time while I rake in a steady cash flow, but whenever I start to get through to her she finds a moon rock or some shit and it’s like talking to a wall.”

“And the end result?”

“I still make twice what she does. Gross that is. Her operating costs are through the roof, while mine…” She trailed off.

“Yeah, not much I imagine.”

Guess it pays off to be a single-crew ship.

What Elaena didn’t say was that while she could tolerate the attitude towards cargo hauls, it was the pirate jig that drew them away from each other. The scar she had across her throat was more than enough to tell that pirates shouldn’t be messed with. Her sister on the other claw, she chose to roam the skies living a romanticized fantasy of a life the ponies in Equestria were all too happy to gobble up.

Hearing stories of the dashing pirate Captain going on quests looking for treasures long lost? That they liked, but most of them utterly failed to acknowledge the actual pirates. The ones that ransacked isolated settlements in the southern hemisphere and attacked ships when they were at their most vulnerable.

The attitude was understandable considering the northern hemisphere (where Equestria was) was nowhere near as dangerous, but that didn’t make her sister’s attitude any better. She knew damn well what went on in Klugetown.

Sirocco eventually reached the vicinity of Gothenburg. As expected, the Swedish city still was covered by an immense cloud of gas. Even from a thousand meters up in the air, they could see the murky yellowish/orange haze that blanketed the streets of the city through the windows of the cockpit. Parks and vegetation had withered away from the contamination, leaving dirty brown blotches in the cityscape.

There were only a few buildings that were spared from the contamination: residential districts on the outskirts of the city, and some of the taller skyscrapers in the CBD. The former had the local topography to thank for that, since the hills around the city put the small houses just high enough that they were spared from the gas, as were the top floors of the skyscrapers.

Hopefully that was where the rescue team would find the survivors.

The most contaminated area appeared to point towards a factory near the harbor, where the haze was so thick they could barely see the top of the factory’s twisting maze of chromed piping and gantries.

Thankfully, it seemed that Gothenburg’s uneven terrain helped prevent the gas from contaminating the rest of the region. The city, much like any city on the western side of Scandinavia, was built amidst a jagged terrain with steep rocky rises all over the place. The city centre and the harbor were built at the mouth of the river between two such rises in the terrain, which thankfully seemed to keep the heavier-than-air gas contained to the city.

The small archipelago west of the estuary was the exception to that. Winds coming from the hinterland had blown some of the gas in their direction, killing flocks of gulls and removing any traces of shrubbery on the islands before it moved on further to sea and dissipated.

“Whelp, better hope those survivors are in the safer parts of the city.” Elaena muttered.

“I hope for them. Wouldn’t want to be stuck in a confined space in such a situation…” He trailed off, glancing at the chart on the board next to Elaena. “Anyway, alter course to two-eight-five for now. We’ll move west across the sea until we hit Kristiansand, then it’s all smooth from there. Just keep the shore on our starboard side until we reach Lofoten.”

As for Alejandro, he went down the hatch back to the chart room where they had installed the radio station. Calling Copenhagen to tell them about the gas cloud was nothing too hard, though Sirocco’s limited batteries forced him to keep the transmission short. Dilip was rather displeased at the news, the possibility of survivors being in the uncontaminated parts of the city doing little to raise his spirits.

Because it didn’t change anything. The expedition team sent to Gothenburg would still have to pack hazmat suits, SCBA’s and the Piranhas.

“He doesn’t sound happy.” Armiger noted.

Alejandro startled. The Abyssinian noble had somehow snuck up on him while he was speaking with Dilip, his feline form nonchalantly leaning in the doorframe.

“That he isn’t. We’re taking insane risks sending a team in the middle of a gas cloud at the possibility of finding survivors. He was probably hoping I’d tell him it had dissipated in the meantime.” He told the noble whilst making sure the radio had stopped broadcasting.

“Your Captain doesn’t seem too fond of taking risks.”

“Because we can’t. We’ve been walking on thin ice ever since we reappeared. No safety net, no Coast Guard to pick us up if we wreck the ship, no salvage crews to pull us out if we ground her, and much as I loathe admitting it, our medical capabilities aren’t even that good.” The parrot recited with a shake of his head as he was hunched over the chart table. “I’ve been called out on that, mind. Our bosun, Artyom…”

“The blue dragon?” Armiger quirked his head.

“Yeah, him.” He nodded. “Complained a few times we were overdoing it with the risk assessments.”

“Risk assessment?”

“It’s a formal procedure we do to examine the dangers of certain tasks and minimize risks to ship and personnel. Regardless… as long as it’s just us and our ship with not even a single colony to return to, we will have to show extra care for even the most routine tasks. Any misstep…” He made a cutting motion with his claw. “… and Amandine could be doomed.”

“Using colonies as a safety net. You know, I’m no marine specialist but judging by the size of your ships you will need a fairly large industrial base.”

“It’s not going to be easy, I know.” Alej’ sighed. “I don’t even know if we will ever achieve it, but our world relied heavily on maritime logistics for supply chains. If we don’t start finding and linking colonies soon, our civilization could very well start slipping back decades on the technological scale.”

“So?”

“So what? I’m Chief Officer, not Captain. I may worry about that stuff but it’s up to Prateek and Gerig to find a solution. What I can tell is we will need to negotiate some deals. Ships need their own kind of stuff, but we can’t ask colonies to produce supplies and parts just for us. That is gonna be a huge change for the industry.”

“I don’t get it.” Armiger frowned.

“How does the shipping sector work in Abyssinia?”

“That depends.” Armiger crossed his arms. “What do you mean exactly?”

“Who owns the ships? Who charters them?”

“That would depend on the kind of ship. Regional freight transport –anything that stays in Abyssinia- is typically transported on smaller tramp freighters owned by companies. International cargo on the other paw, that’s where you get one-ship-companies. Heirloom ships, where the Captain is typically the owner and it’s more of a family affair.”

“That system practically died out here on Earth. That’s what I meant about the change. We typically just pick up the cargo and transport it. There is no negotiation aspect on the shipboard side of the industry; all deals are handled by companies and agents shoreside. Been that way for a while now, which is no surprise considering no single individual could possibly shoulder the financial burden of a seagoing ship.”

“They’re costly aren’t they? Considering how big Amandine is I wouldn’t be surprised if she cost a significant amount.”

“You aren’t particularly versed in the ins and outs of the maritime sector are you?” Alejandro glanced at the feline over his shoulder.

“I’m more of an industrial. Factories, workshops, some vineyards even, but no fleet management.” Armiger admitted with a shrug.

The parrot noted in passing how the Abyssinian’s tail tended to mimic his shrugs by bobbing up and down. Funny, he never really paid attention to that…

“Then I’ll have you know the problem with ships is not the upfront cost of building or buying them. What gets you in the long run is the upkeep. And it’s skyrocketed in the last years of our civilization. Pollution insurances, P&I clubs, vetting, classifications and flag-state requirements. Pair those with crew salaries that require the hiring of graduated Engineers and Officers, stupendously high fuel costs and the steady increase in size… family-owned ships were doomed to disappear. The only industries where they remained were for inland navigation and fishing fleets, and even then they were only a fraction of the total.”

“Interesting. I’ll keep that in mind when I get back to Abyssinia, might be interesting to know how that industry can develop.”

“Investment ideas?”

Armiger’s eyes twinkled in amusement, the tip of his tail drawing small circles in the air.

“My my, minutes of talking and here you already figured me out. Hats off to you.” The cat smirked.

“Flattered. My point still stands. Ships that reappear will be unclaimed by any shipping company, with only their Captains and crews as legitimate ‘owners’. That means the negotiation side of the job will be coming back, for good or ill. No relying on shoreside agencies to figure out the most optimal trade route for a specific ship any time of the year. Figure out the supply chains yourself, and make sure to be where you’re needed at the right time to pick up freight.”

Armiger blinked at him, an owlish look appearing on his muzzle.

“Something wrong Armiger?”

“Nothing, just an idea.” He shook his head. “But please, call me Louis. ‘Armiger’ can stay in Abyssinia’s cigar lounges, we’re on an expedition! Back to my idea. Elaena, she owns Sirocco. You should ask her how she manages it, might help you when it’s time to do it yourself.”

It was Alejandro’s turn to blink in surprise. That… really wasn’t such a bad idea. He thanked Armiger –no, Louis- before quickly grabbing the next chart on their list. Speaking of Elaena, she’d need that chart in a few minutes when they passed Stavanger.

Sirocco continued on her route, following the Norse shoreline all the way north to Narvik. Elaena and Alejandro relayed each other at regular intervals behind the controls, making sure the double-balloon-airship kept a steady course and didn’t change her altitude or speed too much.

Radiant could have helped with that, but Sirocco was already made to be piloted by a single parrot, he’d just have been redundant at the job and his body type barely fit in the pilot’s seat anyway. The Pegasus thus found himself relegated to the role of keeping an eye on the engines, something that wasn’t even particularly necessary because of Sirocco’s one-parrot-crew jig.

He did spend a good while marveling at the engineering behind the craft, wondering whether a pony like him could buy one once he got back from the expedition.

Elaena mentioning Sirocco’s price tag put an abrupt stop to that. Even she had to admit, she was lucky to have gotten her claws on the airship. Radiant managed to intercept her between two bouts at the helm and, with sensible use of coffee and some subtle prodding; he managed to get her to open up on how exactly she had acquired the airship.

It was a bit underwhelming really. No grand story of stealing prototypes from a mad scientist, no humongous treasure to finance a revolutionary vessel or anything quite like that.

Just making sure you’re at the right place at the right time; and that you slide enough bits –or Abyssinian marks (A-Mark for short) rather- in the right creature’s pockets.

Elaena had been lucky enough to wash up in Abyssinia after the loss of her first ship. Her former crew was quick to scatter as soon as they left the hospital, leaving her with nothing.

Nothing but a hefty account at the Royal Bank and earnings from the book on piracy she had written while recovering in the hospital. She may not bother with actual parachutes but you’d be hard pressed to catch her off guard on the financial side.

Then she just played a few parties like fiddles.

Party one: Abyssinia’s Royal Academy of Fine Engineering. Eternal lovers of any exotic tech they could get their paws on. She ‘donated’ the cats her notes on traditional high performance Ornithian lift gases while making sure the newspapers caught her in the act.

Paired with her newfound fame -courtesy of her book-, it took but a day for letters from various engineers and shipwrights to land in her lap.

Her book helped. The narration in there made sure to draw a picture of her and her sister while putting emphasis on the fact she was the more ‘tame’ of the duo. She was a sound investment, little risk taking, no theatrical antics; just steady, reliable investments.

And investments they were. The academics wanted to see the Ornithian lift gases in action, the shipwrights wanted to get the opportunity of making the next revolutionary airship, investors wanted their name on it, and the Abyssinian Crown just wanted good publicity.

A few months later, she was flying out aboard a brand new Sirocco. A design optimized to fill a niche in the industry few others could fill, something which quickly started raking in money. In as little as five years of careful management along with investments on the side, she managed to buy all shares of the vessel.

Meanwhile, the ground flew under them. If many countries had a relatively straight shoreline with beaches, Norway was the complete opposite. All the fjords and inlets, some of them digging dozens of miles into the hinterland, gave the shoreline a jagged appearance. The border between sea and land was made even harder to distinguish by the presence of hundreds of small islands of all shapes and sizes, some just a hundred meters across with but a few weeds and a fisherman’s shack on them.

The reason behind that landscape came from the geological nature of Norway. See, contrarily to most of Europe’s shore, the Scandinavian Peninsula was made of mostly igneous rocks like granite unlike the far more brittle sedimentary rocks found elsewhere, such as limestone. That was the reason behind the massive outcroppings and mountains that arose out of the land a mere hundred meters away from the shore: it simply was that much harder for water to erode.

From the air, all these cliffs and rocks gave the land a dark grey hue similar to a blackboard. That dark grey paired up with the green vegetation growing out on the slopes and in the narrow valleys, wherever there was enough land for it to grow. Pines, hardy weeds and all kinds of vegetation able to weather the harsh conditions that swooped in every winter, placed over the landscape as if painted there by the strokes of a giant brush.

But no fields, or at least nowhere near as many of them as in Sweden. Norway didn’t lend itself to the same kind of agriculture as Southern Sweden.

Elaena didn’t regret their decision of going around the mountains. From the portholes of Sirocco, they could all see the clouds wrapping around the snow-capped mountains, some high, some low, all buffeted by strong winds.

Without a proper chart she was pretty confident they would be a smoldering wreck somewhere on the slopes had they not decided to use nautical charts and go the long way around them.

A chill started to seep in the air as they flew further north, the temperature dropping down a good five degrees as their latitude increased. It wasn’t really that cold, Norway or not it was still summer. The clouds and drizzle that had loomed over them since Copenhagen were also left behind by the point they passed Alesund, trading place with the cottony shapes of stratus clouds in a blue sky.

It was also about that time Louis and Derek discovered exactly why Norway was called the Land of the Midnight Sun. Their voyage may have lasted twelve hours with their departure around noon, but night never came. They were now too far north for that. In Narvik, the sun didn’t set from late May to late July.

A few hours after passing Alesund, the Lofoton Peninsula finally appeared ahead of them.

They were there.

“So he just left you with a manual?”

“Basically.” Scarface shrugged. “Said you’d be able to help me figure out the rest as soon as I could focus magic in my arms.” The gargoyle told, forearms lighting up in a red translucent aura for emphasis. This was about the only thing he could do at the moment. Derek had given him and the other gargoyles a couple lessons on magic, but all of that went out of the proverbial window when he left with Sirocco.

The young mage’s parting words were why he was now addressing Sidereal. Not that she wasn’t on an expedition roster herself, but she wouldn’t be going far enough to cancel the unicorns’ magic lessons…

… which now seemed to include the sphinxes as well. He could see Farkas and Thanasis sitting on their haunches near a magic lantern, eyes closed in concentration.

It wasn’t that odd actually. The more the Equestrians trained regular ponies and species they were familiar with, the more of their attention they could devote to rarer species. This was how Gust wound up giving flight lessons to winged bipeds, and also how Cheese and Sidereal found themselves beginning to teach sphinxes the basics on magic. By Derek’s reckoning, Nikola could ask the latter to teach him magic.

“I’m sorry uh…”

“Nikola, or Scarface if you want.” The Bulgarian completed.

“Sorry Nikola, but I don’t think gargoyle magic and unicorn magic mesh particularly well. You have your kind of magic and we have ours, the spell lattices and weaving are intrinsically different because of the very nature of our focis.” Sidereal apologized. “We’re already having difficulties teaching the sphinxes.”

Farkas opened her eyes, only for the lioness to notice they were shining like a pair of flashlights. Cheese rushed over to help her dispel the accidental spell.

“I can see that…” Scarface drawled. “But is there really nothing you can do? Any tips?”

“I could, but I fear any advice I could give you would be… ill-suited. Either I tell you advanced stuff I learned for my PhD you couldn’t care less about, or I give you advice that’s meant for unicorns that may not even work for you.”

“Pity…” He sighed, shoulders sagging. “Well then, guess it’s back to flight lessons for now.”

And he didn’t even particularly like flying. Those wings on his back were more of an annoyance that forced him to readjust his entire wardrobe and wouldn’t let him sleep on his back. They got warm or cold at the slightest change in temperature, something that was particularly annoying when he had to go between the relative freshness of Amandine’s car decks and the stifling heat of the engine room.

“I could try something.”

He perked up.

“That manual he gave you, I could try to take a look at it tonight. I think I know enough about magic to interpret what’s inside and figure out how you’re supposed to make it work.” Sidereal mused. “No promises though, I’ve never read any academic publications that came from gargoyles.”

“It’s the thought that matters. Thank you.” Scarface gingerly handed her the manual with a polite smile before walking back towards the rest of the assembled gargoyles on the other side of Amandine’s main deck.

She spotted a few disappointed looks before one of them motioned for the others to follow with a wave. If they couldn’t train in magic, at least they’d make sure they could fly as soon as possible.

“Nikola?” Sidereal stopped the Bulgarian before he could get too far. He addressed her an inquisitive look but didn’t say anything.

“Those wings of yours, they seem to be bothering you.” The red mare pointed at them with her hoof.

“Yeah, always seems to feel hot or cold at the worst of times.”

“I know dragons use the skin in their wings to dissipate heat. They run hot. Maybe you’re supposed to use them for temperature control, just saying.”

He was just about to deny that when the thought struck a memory of Derek. Now that he thought about it the mage did always carry a cloak around, even now in summer. At times he’d wear it above his wings, other times he’d just fold it.

“I’ll look into that.” He nodded curtly before turning around to join the other gargoyles.

Watching him depart, Sidereal starred down at the manual she had dropped by her forehooves. The thick paperback book had a mention on the back of the cover. ‘Translated to Equestrian’.

Ugh, those were always so inaccurate.

It took him a while and a lot of trial and error, but Vadim was finally flying.

Not gliding. Not helplessly beating his wings to stay aloft. Flying.

The grey falcon griffon let out a delighted caw as he zoomed above the stacks of containers and headed for Amandine. Behind him, other trainees cheered him on, most of them still busy doing glide training.

He caught the sound of feathers beating against air behind him so he angled his wings ever so slightly to slow down. Micha shot past him in an orange-clothed blur, soon followed by Gust, the Equestrian Ranger matching his speed.

“Congrats!” The gold-furred Pegasus spoke up, his red and blue tail trailing behind him and leaving –for some reason- a faint contrail. He had shed his gambeson, not needing the armor as long as he stayed within the limits of the terminal the sailors kept secure.

“Thanks! Just a question…” Vadim paused to bank around a tall container crane. “… where do I go from here?”

“Two things.” Gust stated. “One: keep flying so you can stay longer in the air. I’m not talking minutes, I’m talking hours spent aloft. Do it all the time, just to keep your wings fit. Even if it means hovering half a meter above the ground when you’re inside.”

“What’s number two then?” Micha butted in.

The bald eagle griffon had just completed a lazy turn around Rhine Forest’s gantry crane and was only now joining their ‘formation’.

“Maneuvers.” Gust grinned before starting to beat his wings faster.

They watched him roll over and start doing tricks around the cranes and between the stacks, his lithe equine form hugging the obstacles, never straying more than a meter away from them before he shot up in the air with a corkscrew. He allowed himself to stall at the apex of his climb, before dropping into a glide that brought him back alongside the two griffons flying side by side.

“You’re flying now, which is good, but there is more that can be done. I’m not going into cloud stuff further than the fact you can walk on them for now, but you might want to learn some tricks. Hovering, flying backwards, upside down, obstacle runs.”

“Obstacle runs?”

“Maybe it’s because I’m an Everfree Ranger.” He admitted. “I find it rather important. We have our courses where we must fly as fast as possible through a forest.”

Together, the three of them landed on top a container stack.

“But why?” Micha asked.

“Everfree’s a big forest. The canopy doesn’t always let you fly up to avoid danger –and believe me there is danger in spades -, so we need to reach certain speeds through forestry without hitting them.”

“You told me Pegasuses…”

“Pegasi.” Gust corrected.

“Right, Pegasi.” Micha rolled her eyes. “Didn’t you say your uh… kind is more suited for high altitude performance?”

“We are. Doesn’t mean I can’t achieve it with a bit of elbow grease. Sure, batponies will beat me in a forest run, but it’s no trouble as long as I meet the criteria. That and there is more to the job than just flying through forestry. We have other species in the ranks too. Unicorns, Earth Ponies, it’s more than just a bunch of flyers shooting crossbow bolts at critters.”

“Eh, if you say so. Not like I can verify.” She shrugged before suddenly swiveling her head in the opposite direction. “Be right back.” She blurted out before spreading her wings.

She had left Andy with Aleksei; the Latvian hippogriff had been taking a short rest and could stand to watch the kid for a minute or two.

Or not.

She was currently chatting with Sandra, completely unaware that a certain hatchling had become disinterested in her coloring books and was now stalking a seagull.

Not. On. Her. Watch.

She saw Andy get ready to pounce on the surprisingly oblivious gull, an unhealthy ball of feathers covered in grime no sane creature would ever consider as prey. The poor animal was probably more plastic waste than flesh at that point.

Kid didn’t seem to care. Micha intercepted her just in the nick of time, pinning her tail to the ground with her talons and halting her mid-pounce. Andy let out an outraged squawk, the outburst making the seagull fly away now that it had noticed the two predators in its vicinity.

The older hen fixed a stern glare on the hatchling who had the presence of mind of at least squirming a bit.

“Seagulls aren’t for eating. They’re full of diseases. You just had dinner.” She barked, sharp raptor eyes not leaving the kid.

Andy meekly tugged at her still pinned tail before lowering her head.

“Kurwa mac…” She heard the kid mutter under her breath.

Micha furrowed her brows, her grip on Andy’s tail subconsciously tightening. First words she heard her utter and… it’s just swearing. Now she wasn’t really surprised the kid’d pick up words like that but…

That didn’t really make it any better.

“Don’t say that Andy, those are bad words.” She sighed, letting go of her tail.

On the one claw, the kid was finally starting to speak so she didn’t feel like chastising her about it. On the other claw… she might need to watch her language around the kid now that she was picking up on what she was saying.

Can’t really blame Andy though. She’d be surprised if she actually knew what she’d just said actually meant.

“I’m sorry Mich’, she slipped past me.” Aleksei rushed over with an apology.

Micha looked down at Andy who was now pressing herself against her side with an apologetic look. She did understand the scolding tone then.

“It’s nothing.” She shook her head, brushing her talons over Andy’s back.

Not really, but she didn’t feel like being rude.

A knock on the door interrupted her train of thought.

“Come in!” Schmitt barked, setting aside her blueprints for now.

It was late in the evening, well after the usual flight training they did at that time. Up until then she had been hunched over her desk touching up the blueprints for the oil reconditioning system they’d need to complete, eventually.

Not really urgent, per se, but it seemed like her transformation didn’t cure her insomnia problems. So… might as well make use of that time.

Scrunched paper balls littered the floor all around her desk, along with a few empty thermoses long depleted of their precious coffee. On a corner of her desk were also a couple chewed-up drill bits and screwdrivers the female dragon found herself sticking in her maw increasingly often as of late.

Her door opened to reveal a somewhat disheveled hippogriff, the blue feathers of his mane/crest sticking out at odd angles to go with the myriad of coffee stains he had on his white coveralls.

“Engine Cadet Rüdiger ma’am, here to report on my progress.” Frederik barked tiredly.

Schmitt’s eyes flicked to the alarm clock on her desk, it was showing her a number uncomfortably close to midnight. Kinda late to go from Rhine to Amandine just to report his progress.

“Speak up, how did it go with the flow rate calculations?” She waved a claw towards a chair in front of her desk.

“It took us some time, but I think we’ve done it.” Frederik told her, sliding a small laptop on the desk, along with a couple printed excel sheets. “It took all three of us engine cadets, but we’ve got an idea of what we’ll need.”

“Scale model or full size?”

“Both.” The hippogriff smiled. “We… uh, shit.” His face darkened.

“Something wrong?” Schmitt raised an eyeridge at the pause.

“Not really. I just don’t know how to say it in English.”

“Just switch to German then.” She rolled her eyes. “I’m Luxembourgish, languages aren’t really a problem for us.”

“Danke.” Fred said in relief. “The other Engine Cadets all speak German too, so we did it in German instead of English.”

“They’re German too?”

“No, French, but they learned it in high school. One is from Alsace even. Anyway…” He clicked his beak. “We ran our calculations with the system requirements you wanted. The excel sheets should give you an indication of the suction head required to make the system work, but it’s gonna need booster pumps otherwise the whole thing will be a cavitation fest.”

“How many times did you run the iterative calculations?” She asked, brushing a claw over a drawing of the system.

“Five times on the scale model, twelve times for full size, got an accuracy of about .01%. We also did the thing backwards: depending on the pumps we’ve managed to salvage around the docks, I added some flow tables for each setup along with output-by-rpm graphs.”

Honestly, the difficulty with the whole thing would be more about having to make the whole oil reconditioning system work for oils in varying states of degradation. The differences in viscosity required several measures to make the whole system viable. Flow and pump requirements were a secondary thing Schmitt was perfectly comfortable with handing off to the Cadets.

What she was getting stuck on at the moment was introducing a system that would make the vilest of oily sludges pumpable and cleanable.

So far, the only thing she had come up with to get to the desired viscosity was a freshwater injector paired with a mixer. Not ideal, both because it forced them to use fresh water to clean oil, and…

Well, mixing fresh water with a heavily polluted and spoiled sludge was ecologicallyunwise to say the least. Sure, she very much doubted any activists would show up on their doorstep mid-apocalypse so she totally could throw the contaminated water overboard once it had helped with cleaning the oil and keeping a decent viscosity inside the system…

Nah.

She told Frederik to wait a second before pulling out a large sheet of paper with the general drawings of the system.

Freshwater injector it is.

But!

She also drew another oil/water separator at the end of the system, along with an oil-content monitor. Technically she wasn’t cleaning the water they rejected, but at least they’d make sure not to leave an oil slick on the surface whenever they cleaned oil. The usual really, just keep the oil content below 15ppm. They did the exact same thing when they discharged bilge water at sea, and it was perfectly legal.

“Okay, let’s do that… we’re not going to do the water injector for now since shore oils aren’t that spoiled yet.” She began, snatching a blank sheet of paper from her printer and writing down instructions on it. “Tomorrow I’m going with the expedition to Gothenburg, but that doesn’t mean the project stops with my departure, got it?”

“Jawohl.” Frederik nodded.

“What I want you Cadets to do is start building the scale model without the water injection system. If you manage to complete it in time, go take some oil samples to run through the system.”

“What kind of oil exactly?”

“Bilge samples. The nasty stuff, let’s not forget we’re cleaning that oil now. I don’t know how you do it on Rhine, but if you don’t have any take some from the sludge tank on Amandine, ok?”

Frederik nodded.

“Good! Remember: you take two samples at the same time and use on in the system. Compare the purity of both. What I want to know with this test is if the system is viable.”

“But what if the result isn’t usable in the engines?”

“It won’t be. Ever. It’s bilge oil. I don’t think we’ll find any spoiled fuel for at least a few months, so that will have to do. So that’s three tasks for you lot tomorrow: finish the blueprints for the scale model with…” Her pencil hovered over some of the excel sheets before circling a pump setup. “That setup. Build it. And if by the time you’re done you’ve got some time to spare, run the sample through it and do a performance evaluation.”

The German hippogriff bit back a gulp as he watched the orange dragon write her instructions on the sheet in front of him. That would take hours! They had just spent nearly as long doing the calculations, and it was only by convincing the others that they might get some down time after the crunch that they’d got the job done.

“We uh… ma’am?”

Schmitt winced internally at the reminder she was now female. She waved for him to continue.

“I don’t think we can do it all in one day.”

“Of course you can’t.” She shrugged as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, her wings rising at the motion.

“Excuse me?”

“This task sheet…” She grabbed the piece of paper in her claw and waved it at him. “Consider it as such: do your usual tasks, routine stuff, and then use what time you can spare to work on the project.”

“But…”

Schmitt aw’ed.

“You crunched through the calculations didn’t you?”

“We did, yeah.” Fred lowered his head.

He had an inkling of an idea his goodwill with the other cadets was about to dip significantly.

“We have months ahead of us before this whole oil reconditioning business actually becomes relevant. There is no use exhausting yourself over it, ok?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Alright listen…” Schmitt leaned back in her chair, her tail coiling around one ankle as she stared at him through piercing blue eyes. “I’ll give you a piece of advice: pace yourself. You already know you can’t pass exams by crunching overnight. You may pass the first, but by the time the second comes around you’ll already be a wreck. Think of all our projects like exams, and oil won’t start spoiling until the end of the semester. Is that clear?”

“Crystal ma’am.” The hippogriff sagged. “I’ll… tell the others tomorrow.”

“I’m not chastising you.” Her maw parted in a predatory smile. “But they might. You did good work; just make sure to pace yourself next time.”

He nodded weakly.

“Dismissed. Get some rest Rüdiger, you’ll need it.”

As for her, with another couple hours of work she might be able to drop dead and overcome her insomnia…

“Hello world! Copenhagen here, with DJ Jensen.” Sandra cheerfully began.

She was sitting at the radio station they had installed in her cabin, a high-quality mic hanging in front of her muzzle, adjusted just right to her height so she could comfortably sit on her haunches in the comfortable desk chair she had a sailor bring there.

She may not have been on Amandine for long, but she was already starting to give the cabin a homier feel. Stuff she had gotten back from her houseboat in Christianshavn had found its way here and there: family photos from before the Event, wall posters to balance out the drab colors of the wall…

The obligatory soundproof wall panels. The batpony had received a very clear message that her role as radio operator and broadcaster would not be an excuse for disturbing their sleep.

Right now she was comfortably leaning back in her chair, her favorite pillow pushed against the armrest and a cup of tea held in her ‘wing digits’. She had her laptop open on her desk next to the radio station, a blinking red light clearly telling her she was now broadcasting.

To the entire world. Satellite radio helped with that.

“Now let’s not be fooled. I know this will be broadcasted worldwide but if my knowledge of radio tech before the Event is any good, there won’t be many of you hearing me. Pardon the accent by the way…” The Danish batpony rolled her tongue in her mouth. “I’m not exactly a native speaker, but I figured I’d get a better audience in English. Back to radio tech then… satellite radio isn’t what I’d call widespread, so unless you’re in the vicinity of the Oresund you won’t be hearing me on FM or AM anytime soon. And if you’re near the Oresund, then forfanden haul ass and get to Copenhagen.”

She took a sip of her tea and glanced at her notes. Right, get to the main dish.

“By now you’re probably wondering why you’re hearing the voice of one lovely girl –or mare really- on the waves. And you’ll be hearing more of me in the future, be sure of that. Daily planning will be one emission put on repeat every two hours with my delightful playlists in between. I’ll make sure to record something new everyday, tell you the news, change the playlists so you poor solitary survivors don’t go stark raving mad.”

“Thing is, I’m no solitary survivor. Eh, this might be the closest thing we’ll have to an advertisement on this channel actually. See, I gotta thank a bunch of sailors for rescuing me and giving me that radio. Poor me would have been eaten by timberwolves otherwise, wouldn’t that be a pity now?” She laughed.

“My thanks go to the sailors of Amandine and Rhine Forest. We’re making an organization with them, a fleet, if you will. If you want to contact us, we’ll be very interested to hear about you and maybe even your colony…”

Reading off her own notes, she explained them the procedure on how to message them via satellite mail or call them on a satellite phone. She made sure to give both her cabin’s number and that of the bridge so they’d get their messages.

“But enough with trivialities. I want to celebrate my… I guess I should call them shipmates now?” The purple batpony smiled. “So…” She lifted her teacup in her wing. “Here’s one… teacup of mint infusion? Here’s one to that glorious bunch of sailors, which, by my right as the only media on the entire planet, I hereby unilaterally christen as the World Seafarer Union. No, you don’t get a choice, now the world knows you as that. If anyone’s listening, please give a round of applause to the sailors of the WSU, coming soon to your neighborhood.”

She paused.

“Well, only if you live near the shore. Tough luck hinterland people, guess you’ll have to live with becoming my pen pals. DJ Jensen, out.”

And with that she keyed off the transmission. She pushed the desk chair into a spin with a cheerful squee.

“I did it mom! I’m a pirate radio now!” She cried out in Danish.

Just like Radio Mercur in ’58.

Her cheering was brought to a stop by the ringing of her alarm clock.

Right, the date with Johann. Batponies date at night.

Author's Note

Got a bit carried away about the oil reconditioning system, hope you folks didn't mind the rambling. That thing really got me wondering what kind of tech you'd need to jury rig to clean up the oil and keep it versatile enough to work under variable viscosities.

Note: Bilge oil is mostly runnof from hydraulics mixed with chemicals, detergents, and condensation from inside the ER. Even in a clean state that's not the stuff you can run engines on.

I have high hopes for WSU Radio, that little trick should allow me to start telling stories of isolated survivors away from the fleet and present them like interviews. Might be entertaining to look into for the sake of variety.

By the way, if any of you has a survivor you'd like to see appear on the radio, feel free to ask.

Little note of trivia: Luxembourgers are ridiculously skilled in foreign languages. For real though, by the time these guys get out of primary school they already speak three languages. High school? Easily six. Some of the Luxos I know can speak eight languages.

Chapter 42: Land of the Midnight Sun

Way north in Norway, Sirocco was reaching the end of her voyage.

The Lofoten peninsula had finally appeared through the windows of the cockpit, its massive shape unmistakable. Roughly twelve miles across and going as far as ninety miles out at sea, its bedrock ridgeline was hard to miss for even the most nearsighted of sailors.

Prior to the Event, the area had been a particularly popular touristic spot, thanks in no small part to the landscape. Tall mountains seemed to rise out of the sea and wrap around a myriad of small bays and rocky beaches, sheltering them from the worst weather formations coming from the nearby arctic.

This ‘shelter effect’ resulted in a pretty mild climate for the latitude that allowed vegetation far more lush than should have been possible to paint the lower half of the mountainsides with shades of green. It might have also been the reason why that area of Norway had been part of human history for millennia. Traces of civilization going as far back as five thousand years had been found in the area, and even before the Event it had remained popular as a fishing haven.

Not that Alejandro knew any of that. He was far more familiar with the recent history surrounding the area and its industry.

Which, in all respects, told a lot about its strategic importance.

He was aware of the 1.3 billion oil barrels the Norse government had refused to exploit in the area. Frankly, it was only now that he got a good look at its raw beauty he fully understood why they chose to prohibit extraction.

The second important aspect was something which had made the entire fjord a point of strategic importance back during the Second World War. See, the fjord they were supposed to follow to Narvik, the Ofotfjord, it was ice-free. All year long, despite being well inside the Arctic Circle.

For one it meant that back in WW2, the Germans had occupied Norway and started using Narvik as a staging ground to prevent the Soviet fleets in Murmansk from accessing the North Sea. The multiple inlets and mountains inside the fjord also provided excellent protection from assaults, both from the air or from surface vessels. Nazi capital ships the likes of Tirpitz wound up hunkering down there at regular intervals during the war.

For second, its ice-free status made it an important shipping port to access Scandinavian resources, the most notable of all being iron ore extracted from Lapland. Trains laden with ore came all the way from Kiruna’s mines to Narvik’s mineral terminal, to the point where the amount of ore ferried through there numbered in the millions of tons per year.

Fjords are no mere inlets too. They run deep. Ofotfjord was some 250 meters at its deepest, and their charts told them that even the ore terminals offered more than twenty meters of depth. There were very few ore carriers in the world that even needed that much water and those that did reach the limit could still carry loads close to 300.000 tons.

That much he could tell Elaena.

“Well, when you compare that to Sirocco’s payload I’m starting to feel inadequate.” She chuckled while flicking some switches on the controls for the gas bladders. “I mean, I usually make do with the sixteen tons of net payload but I wouldn’t complain being able to load that much.”

“How much do airships carry anyway? Pure cargo airships that is, not express ships like Sirocco.”

“At their biggest? I’d say just over a hundred tons. Still not much, so aviators typically go for precious cargoes.”

“Not iron ore then.” Alejandro concluded as he peered over her shoulder through the windows of the cockpit.

He could see the mountains –some covered in snow- close in around them as their altitude decreased. They were still a fair distance away from Narvik, but they could already notice hints they were nearing civilization.

The typical Scandinavian houses, with their wooden walls painted a vivid red. He remembered someone telling him in an anecdote that the color was red not because for style but because the anti-weathering paint contained high amounts of iron oxide.

“Well, iron ore certainly not.” Elaena continued, shutting down the altitude control once they were about two hundred meters up. “But Diamond Dogs use airships to transport precious metals and gems back from their more remote mines and settlements. They still need big airships to do that, and even then they’d rather use trains to do it.”

“Why don’t they then?”

“Tough luck with that. I said ‘remote’ and I mean it. Had to carry a group of engineers up to one of these mines one day and I can tell you: there is not a single train in your world or mine that could climb those slopes.” She paused to make sure they were still flying in the center of the fjord. “Diamond Dogs are damn good miners you know, so you usually find them where the ore and gems are. That, unfortunately, rarely coincides with places you can easily access.”

“Hard to see them as such considering the only dogs I know are sailors.”

“True, but that doesn’t change what they’re capable of. Prateek may not be a miner –actually he’s as far removed from one as you can possibly be-, but I’ve seen plenty of dogs working in the mining industry. These pups outdo any other creatures at the job, they do the surveying better, they dig better, and they do it safer. Heck, they have mining advisors going around the entire planet inspecting mines and helping increase safety standards.”

“That good?”

“Expensive as some are, it’s widely accepted that implementing their advice and hiring a forepup or two for your mine will cut down the death toll by 80 percent and double productivity. Frankly I think that’s for the better.”

Really, it was. Equus as a planet had dozens of sentient species inhabiting it, each fundamentally different from the others and fitting particular niches. Those niches were exactly what prevented massive scale wars, or one species outgrowing all the others.

Each of them had their specialty, meaning that there was always one species that would be better suited for a particular task. Agriculture? Earth Ponies and Centaurs. Magic? Unicorns and Gargoyles. Weather control? Pegasi, or griffons, to an extent.

In some cases the niche was a bit different. Hedgefogs for instance. They were not particularly better suited than any race at anything, but the niche they filled was in adapting to the subcontinent they came from.

“Kinda sounds like you’re boned if you want to be something that doesn’t fit your species. You know, ‘cause then there will be a couple other species better suited for it.”

“Nah, not really. You just have to train harder if you really wanna do it. Or you’ve got protectionist regulations too. There is always a little bit of ebb and flow with that on Equus. One country opens its market to foreign labor and goods for a generation or two before the pendulum swings the other way. It rarely goes too far because most nations are still made up of only one species as the majority –Abyssinia and Ornithia being exceptions to the rule of course, and even that could change in the future-.”

Of course it could change. Abyssinia may still be a very safe place, but there was an underlying tension on the political side of things that meant the cats could very well change their mind on the imported workforce in the future.

And if they did, it wouldn’t even be anything new. It had happened in the past, and it would happen again in the future. The King and Queen would enact measures that disadvantaged the foreign workers, and then they’d just move on to greener pastures. Klugetown maybe, or the Infernal lands.

“Sounds a bit cynical if you ask me.” Alejandro told her.

“I’d rather call it ‘objectively detached’. I certainly don’t like that system. It’s callous and unfeeling. It doesn’t care for those that have to move on with the flow. Far too often, creatures are preyed on as they seek for opportunities, or they wind up abandoned on the side of the road, unable to keep up and stuck in foreign places.”

That and she’d far too often witnessed passengers tell her how they longed for stability. You couldn’t settle with mobile workforces like that. In most cases that wasn’t really a problem. Youngsters would ‘work with the flow’ in their younger years before heading back to the homeland with their earnings and settle for a more comfortable –if less profitable- lifestyle.

Those that could that is. Some never managed to spare enough for that kind of luxury.

Narvik eventually appeared in sight, near the end of the fjord. It had been built in an area where the slopes of the surrounding mountains flattened enough to allow for stable foundations, the entire town a red and white blotch making a stark contrast against the green forestry in its direct vicinity. The grid-planned streets, along with the general square and utilitarian appearance of the buildings made it clear everything there had been built in recent times (by European standards) to fulfill the town’s chief industry. Its terminal.

The ore terminal itself certainly was hard to miss, a huge red mass near the shore with its abandoned conveyor belts and damaged warehouses connecting the piers to the extensive rail yard that snaked its way through town before disappearing in the mountains. Left unattended, all the heavy machinery had run rampant and continued working for a while despite the disappearance of all ships and trains. Piles of ore and overturned hopper cars laid all over the place in what would have been enough damage to close the terminal for weeks prior to the Event.

Now that might as well be forever.

Of course overtime the town had grown to be more than a workers’ village built around the terminal. Colleges, museums, and even a touristic industry had joined the fray, as was testified by the multiple cables cars that connected the town to a nearby ski resort.

Not that any of those were relevant at the moment, doubly so for the ski resort. Sure the weather was a bit chilly, but it was July, snow wouldn’t reach the town for a couple months. It was present, but only high up the mountains, far above Narvik.

Elaena brought Sirocco down in an industrial area near the docks, the double-ballooned airship touching down, her landing claws making a loud ‘clang!’ when they hit the concrete. A few moments later, the props stopped spinning when Radiant shut down the engines.

Around them were several warehouses and workshops, most made out of corrugated steel and whitewashed cinder blocks. Weather and storms had clearly swooped in at some point since the Event because many of the windows were broken, shards littering the weed-riddled concrete between so many fallen cranes and abandoned machinery.

It was at about that moment that Derek poked his head through the cockpit’s hatch.

“Eh there you two, the boss is asking whether you two already got a plan figured out.”

“Tell him we’re staying downtown a few hours, just a matter of refilling the water tank and maybe see if we can salvage a few batteries.”

“Batteries? We’re low on voltage already?” The gargoyle asked in alarm.

“Nah, but we’ll be flying ‘round the mountains. Lots of altitude adjustments in perspective, so I’d rather be on the safe side.” Elaena explained as she was detaching herself from the pilot’s seat.

One after another, the three of them squeezed through Sirocco’s neck back down to the common room where they were greeted to the sight of Louis examining a chart of the city and the surrounding region on the dining table.

“Everything in order?” The noble asked detachedly, eyes not leaving the chart.

“As good as it gets.” Elaena replied, though she didn’t join him at the table and stayed halfway through the doorframe. “We’re near the port, I’d assume finding what we need won’t be too much trouble.”

“And our main objective? Need I remind you we didn’t come here just to enjoy the sights?”

Well, most of all the expedition had been approved just so they’d avoid revealing the aliens’ existence to the HPI. That however, was something not even Alejandro was privy to.

“You don’t.” Alejandro frowned. “And I think I know how to go about it. Like it or not but Elaena and me just pulled twelve hours of navigation in short shifts. If we want to fly into the mountains safely, we’ll need to catch some rest.”

“And of course you found something to keep us busy in the meantime Chief.” Mikhail guessed.

The purple dragon was sitting cross-legged in the lounge section of the common room with a random book in his lap. In all honesty, Alejandro didn’t know much about the Ukrainian, save for the fact his past military experience was what justified his presence here as ‘guard’.

Eh, he seemed professional enough to make it work.

“Naturally.” The hyacinth macaw nodded. “Derek, we need you to cast mage sight and start scanning for the exact location of the convergence point. We had a vague idea it’s around here, but now that we’re on site we need something accurate.”

Radiant chose that moment to join them, the Pegasus just coming back from the engine room with his black mane sticking to his head from the sheer heat of the boiler.

“Ah, how is the engine room?” Elaena jumped in.

“A-OK. Nice engines by the way. The props are uncoupled and the burner is off. Judging by the pressure in the system we got a couple hours before it cools down completely, just in case you’d want a quick start.”

“Excellent, let’s hope it stays that way.” She rasped out before motioning for Alejandro to continue.

“As I was saying, Derek needs to find the convergence point’s exact location. While he does that and I get my beauty sleep, Mikhail, you think you can hotwire a truck and top off our water? And the batteries too, we need extras in the holds. Truck batteries should do.”

“Anything for me?” Radiant asked.

“Keep watch or help Mikhail, either works.” The Spaniard shrugged. “If there are any monsters in town, then they’ve seen us for sure.”

Not that it should be any trouble, with two breech-loaders, the .50 cal or even the M203 Mikhail had equipped on his C7.

“Well, with that we’ll make sure to wake you up by nightfall.” Armiger smiled.

“We’re in the Land of the Midnight Sun, Louis. If there is any nightfall, it won’t be ‘til next month.” He chuckled before walking back towards Elaena’s cabin.

Tired as he was, he didn’t think either of them was in the mood for a romp in the hay.

More than seven hundred miles south of Narvik, things were moving ahead as well back in Copenhagen. In the few days that had followed the planning phase for all the expeditions they were chartering around the region, Amadi had already managed to locate and bring back several of the boats Gerig had approved for retrieval.

A pair of cargo hovercrafts was the first to join their fleet of auxiliaries, soon to be followed by no less than four stern trawlers.

“Amadi.” Raimund asked, the unicorn walking closer to the edge of the quays to get a better look at the new additions.

“Aye ma’am?” The centaur politely replied as he took position a few ways behind her.

“The hovercrafts, where did you get them?”

The question was actually rhetoric. She just had to take a look at the two things they were currently lifting on board of Rhine to know where they came from.

The Tre Kronor roundel painted on each of the propeller nozzles at the rear of the hovercrafts was pretty obvious.

“Sweden ma’am. Got them from an army base near Helsingborg. There were three of them there; so we salvaged the third one for part before bringing them. Parts are inside their holds.”

And they were no small things. Amadi had managed to find the one class of hovercraft that just fit the length criteria of what could fit in the barges’ holding cells at 20 meters.

Aside from the engines and propellers, the design appeared rather simple, if powerful. Their cockpits on the front were offset to portside to leave room for the bow ramp which allowed access to the cargo bay in which there was enough room to fit several dozen passengers, as well as a container or a couple cars, depending on the mission.

The rest was rather simple. A couple antennas and one navigational radar on top of the cockpit, some life rafts near the cargo bay’s escape hatches, and the Swedish Army’s version of woodland camo for paintjob.

They weren’t armed though.

“But how do we load them?” She wondered. The bow ramp was neat, but they definitely couldn’t load cargo that way while the hovercrafts were stowed on board.

“They have hatch covers on the roof.” Amadi pointed out. “We used them to load the parts, didn’t even need a crane to open them.”

“Good, good. Now, what can you tell me about the trawlers?” The filly switched subject, turning her attention towards the four boats that were still waiting to be loaded.

Not that much actually. The four white stern trawlers Amadi had picked all came from the same yard. They had been retrieved by a team in Odense, the town where Maersk used to build their ships. They were also twenty-meters long, like the hovercrafts, but only half as wide and with a flat bottom that made it rather easy to stow them in Rhine’s barge cells.

From a design viewpoint, they looked fairly modern too. A tumblehome hull with inverted bow to better withstand poor sea conditions was helped by retractable stabilizing fins on either side. They had all the instruments needed to set out at sea, and the range to have a use for it, something Raimund very much intended to put to use at some point.

Using them for missions other than simple fishing wasn’t too much of a stretch either, as Amadi later ensured her they could house up to seven sailors on a voyage, and that their fish holds had room for forty tons of fish.

No deck space for containers though. Then again, she’d have been surprised to see trawlers that size load up TEU’s.

“So that’s only the interceptors left.” She stated.

“We should have them in a day or two. I might have to request more sailors on the expedition though I’m afraid.”

“Why?”

“It’s not only about the boats with the interceptors. We need to get ammo for them, and they can’t carry it all. I think I’ll need to dispatch a lorry or two to get enough missiles and torpedoes to last us a while. But ma’am?”

“You sound worried.”

“Not worried, just… not very confident. It’s all very complicated tech these weapons.”

“It’s just like with the tank on Amandine Amadi, we’ll spare the time to train on how to use them. You just have to play your part, we’ll be proficient with this tech in due time. Finish your expeditions, and then the others will pick it up while you catch some rest. You look like you need it.” Raimund told him, not even needing to glance over her shoulder to picture the bags under the centaur’s eyes.

Seriously, there was a weird tendency to crunch on her ship and she didn’t even know how it came about. Even the Cadets seemed prone to do it, something her Third Officer had written her a memo about.

Not that there weren’t occasions where it was justified –she was damn well aware of that-, but that was for when they were on a tight schedule or when the safety of the ship was threatened. Not for expeditions like that.

On the other end of the docks, Sidereal was reaching bursting point, with only Pulp’s presence by her side helping alleviate the pressure.

The day had come for the departure of the expedition to Gothenburg. They had spent the last couple days preparing for what would await them there. The gas. She had had to go through some extensive training just so she could use what the sailors had called a ‘chemsuit’.

Dilip really didn’t want to take any chances with the expedition, a fact which was only heightened by Alejandro’s confirmation that Gothenburg was still contaminated.

And here she was now, sitting in the back of a Piranha APC whilst Schmitt worked her way through a checklist. They had given her a hazmat suit, a completely airtight set they had managed to retrofit for use by quadrupeds, with its own air supply.

The downside was, most quadrupeds on Amandine were bigger than ponies. Griffons, hippogriffs, sphinxes, all were much bigger than her small unicorn frame. She had been forced to wrap duct tape around the limbs just so the thick rubbery material would be tight enough.

On her back she could also feel the unmistakable weight of her SCBA’s air tank, once again something the sailors had gone through great lengths to retrofit. They had been very clear to her that she was to only put on the mask and close her suit once they were on site.

Drawback of the air tank: it only contained thirty minutes of air. For a human, they had no idea how long a pony would last.

And here she was, already strapped down in her seat, marinating in a sweaty hazmat suit, a quivering wreck thanks in no small part to the numerous pictures they had shown of what might happen to her if she came in direct contact with the deadly gas.

That was completely different from just the monsters, them she could fight, she could shield against, she could…

“We’ll be fine Doc.” Pulp reassured her, the larger Earth Pony stallion throwing a hoof over her shoulder in comfort. “These guys know what they’re doing, and we won’t even have to leave this uh… APC, until you actually find the survivors.”

“I know…” She muttered. “It’s just that feeling I got when we were training with the suits. It’s so oppressive, like I can’t breathe properly and I’m always one gasp away from choking.”

“That’s normal Doc. Everypony feels that way as they said, and it’s fine. Just keep an eye on the manometer and fall back to the Piranha once it starts whistling, ok?” He tightened his grip around her shoulder. “You can take on a tatzlwurm, a little bit of gas can’t hurt, right?”

“Yeah… yeah, right.” She breathed out. “Thanks.” She smiled.

“It’s nothing. You’re claustrophobic, right?”

“How did you guess?” She jerked her head.

“I got a similar feeling wearing the suit in training.” The stallion shrugged. “Not too bad for me, but I get the feeling. Eh, phobias are a thing, nothing to be ashamed of. I run away from spiders myself.”

“A big stallion like you?” She chuckled.

“Like an elephant seeing mice.” He smiled. “Now Doc, can I count on you with this? I mean, I bucking hope I can, ‘cause I can’t really close my suit and open my air tank with my hooves.”

“Eh… don’t worry, I will.” Sidereal nodded firmly, her resolve reaffirmed.

By then Schmitt was nearing the end of her checklist. The orange dragon was wearing a hazmat suit as well, not really willing to try if her draconic lungs could manage with industrial-grade amounts of gas in the air. Just like them, she was wearing it half-open to catch some fresh air while she still could. She ran hot already, no need to enclose herself in a dank type one suit if she could help it.

She was talking to another Engineer from Rhine Forest that would take command of the second Piranha to depart on the expedition. A red kite griffon by the name of Valentyn.

At least he didn’t have to use duct tape to tighten his hazmat suit. Tough luck on using his wings though…

The gunner’s hatch opened and a unicorn stallion let himself fall down in the seat. Bart, he would be their gunner on the expedition… and the go-to expert on the Piranhas, being the only one with actual experience using them.

In total there were ten of them going on the expedition. Most would be there to man the Piranhas and ensure all crew seats were filled: gunner, driver and commander. Then they had two ‘passengers’ per APC, leaving them with plenty of seats for possible rescuees.

She and Pulp had been assigned to the lead APC. There were two more in the other APC, but the only one of the two she could actually remember was Vadim, filling the role of the expedition’s medic.

“You two ready?” Schmitt asked all of a sudden.

Sidereal turned in surprise, blinking owlishly at the female dragon that was now peering through the open ramp with one hand on her hip.

“Doc?” The dragon tilted her head, blue eyes staring at her in concern.

She shook off her confusion and smiled sheepishly.

“Sorry. We’re ready, yes.”

The dragon stared for a second, tempted to ask her what was wrong but Pulp quickly flashed her a look. He had it under control. She decided to leave it be and squeezed inside the crew bay, quickly pressing the ramp controls and moving deeper inside to go sit in the commander’s seat.

Sidereal kept looking at the ramp, watching its armored plate rise slowly. Amandine’s car deck faded from view, leaving her and Pulp inside of the cramped, dimly lit crew bay.

She huddled a bit closer to the stallion.

After a few exchanged words on the radio and Schmitt barking some orders at Carlos –the parrot filling the role of driver-, the Piranha lurched forward with a rumble of its engine. For all the difference that it made, they didn’t see anything of the terminal as they left, they didn’t see the streets of Copenhagen, they just… vaguely felt the turns as they left, stuck inside with no windows.

“We’ve barely left and I already hate this thing.” The mare grumbled.

“Yeah, military vehicles… niet made for comfort.” Bart butted in.

The sky blue unicorn stallion had turned away from his seat to keep an eye on the passengers.

He had one of the good seats, facing forward and with a hatch to get air and see where they were going.

“Are they all like that?” Pulp genuinely inquired.

“Enkel those with good protection… mostly.” He shrugged. “Take my seat if you want, but I need it back in Gothenburg.”

That solution proved more tolerable for the claustrophobic mare, her built-up tension finally letting up the moment she poked her head through the open hatch to see the Swedish countryside run past.

The two eight-wheeled APC’s then took a turn onto a highway headed north, a huge sign by the side of the intersection showing them in bold the three hundred kilometers that separated them from the contaminated city.

In the Piranhas’ defense, they could drive at 100km/h, so it wouldn’t take that long.

Resupplying most of Sirocco’s needs didn’t even take them too long.

They had to thank Narvik’s industrial nature for that: the wealth of workshops and warehouses near the docks still hadn’t been looted… meaning they were also the only survivors in town. Mikhail only needed an hour or two before he and Radiant came back with a hotwired truck filled with two dozen truck batteries and a couple cubic meters of fresh water.

And they had made an extra stop on the way, as evidenced by the map Radiant held proudly between his primaries when the two of them came back.

“I didn’t understand most of what they had in the tourism office, but it looked like they did get Equestrian-speaking visitors around here.”

“English.” Mikhail corrected.

“English, right.” He shrugged with his wings before turning towards Derek and Louis. The two of them were hunched over a nautical chart of the area, with lines drawn all over it from the gargoyle’s attempts at locating the convergence point. “I found a map of ancient sites around the area.” He added, laying it on the table for all to see.

That made it a lot easier. Derek only had to cross-reference his lines of bearing pointing at the convergence point with the map of ancient sites before they got an actual fix on its location, at the tip of a small inlet south of the main fjord, less than a dozen kilometers away from the town.

A few hours later, they woke up the two parrots in Elaena’s cabin and Sirocco once more took off, keeping to a low altitude so they could easily observe their surroundings.

With the exception of the parrots in the cockpit, the rest of the crew kept to the weather deck on Sirocco’s back as they flew ever closer to their goal. Armiger stood confidently towards the front of the airship, a brass spyglass held in his paws.

Whereas the main fjord had been some five kilometers across near Narvik, it shrank down to a couple hundred meters near the particular inlet they were aiming for, forcing Elaena to slow Sirocco down to a crawl.

Steep verdant slopes bordered on either side of them, the vegetation quickly fading away the further up they got before finally trading place with the ever-present snow that covered the summits. Norway may not be deathly cold this time of the year, but that didn’t make it a tropical paradise.

Going inside the fjord, they found themselves flying over a bridge at its mouth, scattering a herd of roe deer that had been tentatively nosing at the foreign structure. Up in the air, they saw a large flock of dark-feathered birds fly a few circles high above them before turning away and disappearing behind a mountain.

“Rocs.” Armiger simply stated as he kept an eye on them through his spyglass.

“What? These were monsters?” Mikhail jerked.

“More like pests.” The feline sneered. “They pose little harm to airships like Sirocco but they frequently attack isolated creatures in mountain ranges all over Equus.”

“You sure?” The purple dragon didn’t sound too convinced.

“Positive. They’re a particular kind of bird. Did you see their wing feathers?”

“Looked like they had fairly large primaries.”

“Because their wings are slates. Their wing and back feathers at least.” The feline explained as he folded his spyglass. “That makes them extremely sturdy, and when it’s combined with their natural impact resistance… well, let’s say they’re dangerous for a reason.”

“Any advice?” The Ukrainian asked.

“Stick to groups.” Derek joined the conversation. “Rocs suck at attacking groups, even in flocks. They have this nasty habit of folding their wings when they dive to protect themselves from attacks and charge at their prey. So they rely on blunt trauma to incapacitate you, before they can finish you off using their talons.”

“So you can’t shoot them when they dive at you?”

“Unless you land a headshot, then no.” Derek told him. “Make them commit to the dive then dodge, the impact on the ground won’t stun them but you should be able to get a stab at their belly once they’re on the ground.”

“And don’t stand near cliffs either. They’re mountain birds, they can and they will toss you off if you give them the chance.” Louis added.

Mikhail looked off the direction the flock had left to, their image still vivid in his mind. The birds didn’t appear that big. Maybe as big as condors, then again he was no expert.

“They don’t look like they could do that.”

“Yet they can.” Derek crossed his arms. “They’re strong enough to pick up a healthy Earth Pony, don’t underestimate them.”

He didn’t argue.

Sirocco carried on her way, her crew now keeping their eyes open for any flock of slate-feathered birds that may attempt an attack. Fortunately, it seemed like the birds deemed the airship too dangerous to assault because they didn’t show up again.

There was a thin road going parallel to the slopes, showing them once more how quickly infrastructure could decay after the Event. A landslide had collapsed it at some point, leaving behind a massive amount of churned dirt and broken trees from which bits of nearby electric poles still poked.

A lone farmstead stood at the end of the fjord, with its red-painted buildings arrayed in a small circle around the courtyard where a flagpole stood, proudly displaying the Norwegian colors. It had been built a little distance away from the shore itself, with a narrow dirt track connecting it to a small jetty where they spotted a capsized speedboat rusting away amidst the piles of seaweed that had washed up on shore.

Most of the terrain in the direct vicinity around the farm was occupied by meadows where, oddly enough, the cattle had decided to stay. Cows and sheep merrily grazed away, lazily looking at them as Sirocco landed next to the farm.

Mikhail scowled at the cattle the moment he made his way off the ramp, rifle at the ready.

“You look worried.” Derek asked, right behind him.

“We’re not alone.”

“What makes you think that way?”

“Look at their trough…” The dragon pointed a claw towards the clustered cattle. “It’s full, and I don’t think it rained around here recently.”

And they got their answer soon enough when Radiant went to explore the farm. The Pegasus landed in the middle of the courtyard, kicking up a cloud of dirt when his hooves hit the ground. The farm looked too well tended-to for a place that hadn’t been occupied for a while. Clean windows, watered flowers, and a lazy sheepdog that lifted its head to look at him before letting out a yawn and going back to its nap, still chained to the flagpole.

There was a noise behind him.

“Hva er du?”

Radiant quickly turned on his hooves. There was a small equine standing in the barn’s entrance- No, not an equine, a reindeer.

”Hva gjør du på mitt land?” He repeated, slowly advancing towards Radiant.

The grey Pegasus reflexively took a step back and fluffed up his wings. Reindeers were a rarity in Equestria, their presence almost the matter of legend what with how little they mingled with other species. Their tribes lived further into the arctic wilderness than even the Crystal Empire, where no other creature could possibly dwell with their ease.

And here was one such creature, his brows furrowed at him for intruding on his farmland. He was about as big as a unicorn –the shortest of the three pony tribes- with a thick mottled beige fur. He had an icy blue mane on top of his head, to go with pearl white antlers that matched the color of his cloven hooves.

Most interesting of all was the flannel shirt he had covering his front half and the eerie glow he had surrounding his antlers, not unlike that of a unicorn.

Which might go a long way to explain the farming fork floating midair between them.

“I mean no harm!” Radiant cried out.

The suspicious look on the reindeer lessened somewhat, though he kept the fork pointed at Radiant’s throat.

“You. Tourist?”

“You speak Equestrian?” Radiant repeated.

“We all learn in school here.” He lifted up the fork so Radiant wouldn’t forget about it. “What do you do here?”

“What do I- I mean, I’m here to explore the area!” Radiant quickly said. “I’m no thief! I swear!”

The reindeer snorted and Radiant was relieved to see him rotate the fork and quickly jab its teeth in the dirt.

“You hiker.” He stated. The flying pony wouldn’t be the first tourist to accidentally wind up on his lands, they often did that when hiking up and down the mountains, and he’d had to call quite a few taxis from town to come pick up exhausted groups in the past.

“No! I mean... sort of, I guess? I’m with the airship...” He jabbed a hoof back towards where the farmer could just see the top of Sirocco’s balloons and her mast above the farm. “We’re looking for the convergence point.”

Going by the look he got from the farmer, he didn’t really understand that last part. Instead, he turned his focus towards the visitors.

“How many?” He grunted.

“There are six of us. What’s your name?”

“Jeg er Gunnar Haugen.” The reindeer curtly said before motioning with his head towards where they had landed the airship. “Come, you show me to friends. We talk.”

And talk they did. Louis was delighted to meet the cloven creature, the noble never having had the opportunity of visiting their territories on Equus, and Gunnar –gruff as he may sound- actually was rather relieved to find a sentient creature to talk to. They invited him to share a cup of coffee with them inside Sirocco’s common room, and soon, Gunnar began reciting them his tale.

Turns out, the collapse of the road and the sinking of the only speedboat at the jetty meant the farm was completely cut off from the world. Gunnar had been stuck there for at least a week since his reappearance, a week he had spent quickly adjusting to his new form and protecting his cattle from the rocs.

Which is how he figured out reindeer had access to a range of powers not too dissimilar to unicorns. He had had plenty of opportunities hurling farming implements at the pesky birds, something Radiant counted himself lucky not to have been on the receiving end of.

They told him the gist of what happened. The Event, how long it would take for people to return, they even told him about the incursion of monsters and the demons he’d have to be on the lookout for. To say he was disappointed to hear he might be alone for a while would have been an understatement, but he vehemently refused their offers of bringing him back to Copenhagen.

This was his home, and unlike them sailors, packing up and leaving wasn’t part of his way of life. His parents had lived here, and their parents, and so on for longer than he cared to remember.

What he did agree to was for them to drop him off in Narvik. He needed to replace his speedboat with a sailboat and salvage quite a lot of stuff, because there would be no fixing the road anytime soon. Alejandro also took the opportunity of giving him their satellite phone number –as well as Sandra’s broadcast frequencies- so he could tell them if he ever changed his mind.

But they had to move on to what they were here for at some point, and thus Alejandro found himself asking Gunnar if he had seen anything out of place (well, out-er of place) in the area.

“The forest.” Gunnar simply said before pointing a clover hoof at a porthole. “Rock carvings, older than Viking times, strange... stuff happens. Sitka –my dog-, he’s afraid.”

It was slightly further up the slopes, beyond the meadows around the farmstead, beyond the few vegetable patches growing even further. There was a thick row of bushes marking the separation between farm and forest, with only a small dirt path and a mountain brook connecting the two. Going by the height of the ferns and nettles bordering the path, Gunnar wasn’t much of a forester.

But even then they didn’t need Derek to tell them this was the place. They could feel the thrumming of energy just out of range, behind the trees.

“The rock carvings are old.” Gunnar went on. “Here near the farm, it’s the oldest. Beginning of sacred path.”

“A sacred path?”

“Yes.” The reindeer nodded. “Carved through the cliffs, goes up to top of mountain. Archaeologists came from Oslo to check it, they say the higher you go, the closer you get to Viking age.”

And this settled it, as soon as they were ready, they would escort Derek up that sacred path and finally figure out something about the convergence point.

“By the way, did you know you’re not actually stuck?” Louis added. “Reindeers can fly.”

Gunnar then introduced them to the darker aspects of Norse vernacular.

Meanwhile in Sweden, the two Piranhas had finally reached Gothenburg.

And, just like they had been told, most of the city was covered in a thick yellowish/orange miasma. They stopped their APC’s side by side on top of a hill overlooking the city, with all the team squeezing out of the hatches to have one last briefing on top of their vehicles.

They’d need to. Specific measures had to be taken with the Piranhas. They may be protected against CBRN contamination, but that would only last as long as they kept all openings secure. The moment they stepped out, the interior would be contaminated.

This meant two things: one, none of them could take off their suit when they came back after getting out. They’d have to hook themselves to the air manifold inside their respective vehicles and rely on the APC’s air filtration system.

Second thing was that they’d probably be forced to stop once they escaped the miasma just so Bart could use the decontamination kit. It was either that, or stay hooked on artificial air for the three-hour trip back to Copenhagen.

“Doc, think you can start narrowing down their location?” Schmitt immediately asked as soon as Sidereal joined her on top of their Piranha.

“Of course.” The mare nodded before she lit up her horn with a mage sight spell.

And they quickly got a new line of bearing pointing them towards the CBD. With a bit of luck the survivors would be hiding somewhere in one of the skyscrapers that managed to be high enough to keep their higher floors above the gas.

“Wait a minute.” A feminine voice interrupted them.

It belonged to the sole female Abyssinian in the entire fleet. Lekan, formerly a Liberian male assigned as a rating in Rhine’s barge department.

Female Abyssinians were an oddity of sorts, at least when compared to minotaur cows and female gargoyles. They didn’t have the amazon-esque curves and massive bosoms of the minotaurs, nor the matronly appearance of gargoyles.

Instead, as evidenced by Lekan’s appearance, they were rather on the flat side in the breast department, even when compared to humans. They were just as tall as the males of their species, with a much lighter frame, narrow shoulders and soft curves that made it easy to spot their gender despite their (relatively) flat chests.

If their general appearance wasn’t enough of a tell (because of concealing clothing, like the chemsuit Lekan was wearing), they also had a longer tail and bigger ears than males.

As for Lekan, she had turned into a breed called a savannah cat. Some kind of tame version of a serval with tawny fur, black spots all over and rounded ear tips.

And right now she was sitting cross-legged on top of her own Piranha (she being Valentyn’s gunner).

“So if we’re contaminated as soon as we open the ramp, how can we even evacuate the survivors?”

“Teleportation.” Sidereal replied matter-of-factly. “I can’t get them all the way back to Copenhagen but at least I can take them to a safe spot outside the city.”

“Can’t you just... teleport in from here?”

“I need to find them first. I don’t do blind teleports.”

And it seemed simple enough. Dive in the gas, lead Sidereal to the survivors, then leave once she got them all to safety. Most of their worries would go towards keeping an eye on the limited air supply they had in their air tanks.

With as little as thirty minutes for each of them, they could not afford any mistake.

They all climbed back inside the APC’s –much to Sidereal’s displeasure- and, with a rumble of their engines, the two vehicles descended into town.

In the lead Piranha, Carlos watched his already limited field of vision shrink down to almost nothing once they hit the gas cloud, the miasma shortening how far he could see to a pitiful distance.

“Yo I can’t see shit here.” The cockatoo complained with a trill as he looked through his periscope. “Gunner, you see anything on thermal?”

“Better, but not much.” Bart grumbled. The thermal optics on the .50cal could pierce a bit of the haze, but that bit wasn’t much better.

Heat signatures was something it could spot with little trouble. Cold-on-cold detection though? It was made to target vehicles and infantry at night and behind smoke grenades, not the corners of a building in a gas cloud thick enough to make the Bhopal gas tragedy look mild.

Carlos was forced to slow down to a snail’s pace if he wanted to keep himself from plowing straight through a storefront.

The damage caused by the contamination was even more evident from up-close. They had no idea what mixture of gas was in the air, but they might be able to make assumptions just by seeing how all of the vegetations had withered away.

Grass had turned black; trees had their wood become so weak they collapsed under their own weight, the remains so brittle they disintegrated into fine particles when Carlos pushed through them. All that damage was even more noticeable because of how many parks and trees city planners had spared room for. All for naught, thanks to an abandoned chemical industry running amok without anyone to manage it.

Even things like the sun shades on storefronts and curtains had disappeared, which wasn’t even saying anything about the puddles that had formed here and there across the road. They made sure not to drive through them, just out of caution.

Still, Gothenburg wouldn’t have been too much of an eyesore before the Event. The streets didn’t hold a candle to Copenhagen, but there were countless other towns that wished they could look half as nice. Winding streets, some wide, some narrow led them through a scenery where 19th century stone buildings seamlessly shared the streets with modern creations made out of glass and concrete, a mixture echoed by the roads themselves where strips of asphalt ran parallel to pavement and tramway rails.

Sidereal’s guidance eventually led them to what appeared to be the tallest building in town, a conference centre. At more than twenty floors tall, its red-and-white facades towered above the rest of the cityscape, easily high enough to avoid the gas if the survivors had found refuge around the lookout deck built at its top.

Schmitt had the Piranhas stop just short of the ultramodern building, close to the quays where they could just about spot a marina through the miasma, most of the ships there having drifted from their moorings when the gas gnawed at the fiber of their mooring lines. Some were fine, their fenders having done the job of protecting them from collisions. Others were less lucky, now lying halfway sunk in the water with their masts entangled with the others’.

“This the place Doc?” The orange dragon asked, already getting her SCBA and chemsuit ready.

“Yeah…” The unicorn mage’s eyes were shining from her mage sight. She was looking at the top of the skyscraper as if the Piranha’s hull wasn’t even there to block the view. “I can feel it, large energy spike on the top floors.”

“Alright then!” Schmitt nodded firmly before finally securing her mask to her muzzle. “Get ready folks, ‘cause we’re going in.” She told everyone, voice now muffled by her mask.

Inside the crew bay, Sidereal steeled her nerves while she was helping Pulp get ready. The Earth Pony may not be able to carry a weapon, but his sheer strength might actually be as helpful as that of a minotaur.

That and she wouldn’t have gone if she was the only Equestrian on the expedition, no offense to the ‘Terrans’.

“Remember, we got thirty minutes so don’t waste your time. No looking around the lobby or anything, go for the stairs and get to those survivors ASAP. Gunners, stay down here and keep the engines running. Gotta be on the lookout for monsters.”

And they didn’t waste time. As soon as everyone was ready and the gunners were hooked to the air manifolds, Schmitt gave the order of opening their tanks.

Their mismatched group of bipeds and quadrupeds immediately rushed towards the lobby, all sailors with their guns at the ready. All clad in bulky yellow chemsuits that hissed and whistled whenever they took a breath out of their SCBA’s.

Pavlos was there to take the lead, with Schmitt and Vadim in tow. They led them to a staircase and the climb began.

It was about that time they started cursing modern architecture and non-intuitive design. Twenty stories were already high enough to run up in the limited time they had –particularly when laden with gear and breathing through a SCBA-, so having to look for where the next staircase was didn’t improve the situation.

“C’mon!” Pavlos urged them on, the gargoyle quickly waving his arm at the next row of stairs down an office-filled hallway. “Hurry up you lot! All the air you waste now is air you won’t have to get down! Only ten more floors and we’re above the gas cloud!”

To their credit, they did push themselves to their limits to get there in time. Pavlos’ constant words of encouragement made them able to reach the ‘fresh’ levels after only using a third of their air supply. Still, they waited before they were at least two floors above the gas cloud before closing their air valves and taking off their masks.

Sidereal in particular let herself fall down on her belly with a groan.

“I’m an academic for Faust’s sake. We’re made for lifting books and reading… That stuff here…” She panted. “I’d rather leave it to the specialists.”

They took a short pause to allow everyone to catch their breath before Schmitt and Pavlos eventually forced them to stand up. The survivors were probably waiting for them.

And so the dragon quickly arranged her chemsuit to make herself presentable. She adjusted the strap on her rifle before confidently striding up the stairs to what she assumed to be the lookout deck.

She opened the door, already expecting to see a crowd of relieved survivors of whatever species Swedes could turn into…

… Only for all those hopes to be immediately quashed. Because the carpet was stained red.

All around the lookout deck, what must have been less than a dozen bodies lay dead, their bodies still warm and the carpet still wet from the blood. She stumbled inside, falling down on her knees at the sight of… reindeers, griffons, hedgefogs, even a lone teen dragon, all dead.

And on a coffee table, near a broken window, laid a pulsating gem.

“A decoy…” Sidereal fell down on her haunches next to Schmitt, a haggard look on her muzzle at the sight of the bodies. “We got tricked… by a BUCKING DECOY! A DECOY!” She repeated, stomping a hoof against the bloodstained carpet.

Pulp went to approach the mare to offer comfort but he stopped when he caught a gleam reflecting the sunlight. He turned his head. There it was. A cloaked equine looking at them through a spyglass. He was on another rooftop.

The equine noticed him because he threw him a smirk and pointed a hoof a couple stories below them before quickly disappearing in a flash.

“Was that…” Pulp started only to be stopped when the entire building shook.

They heard glass breaking outside and Schmitt immediately rushed over to a window to see what was going on.

A giant four-headed reptile was slowly climbing up the tower’s side, using three of its heads to grip the façade, with the last one throwing the dragon a predatory look with its toxic green eyes.

It roared at her, wisps of gas seeping out of its mouth.

This wasn’t a rescue… this was an ambush.

Author's Note

SCBA's... you know, some say every sailor is a firefighter. They're not wrong, but you won't catch me saying a sailor is anywhere near a match for an actual fireman -though I've seen many sailors convert to firefighting to get a shoreside job, even Navy guys becoming airfield firemen with the Air F~~a~~orce in some cases-. It's a secondary function, because last I checked firetrucks didn't float.

Personally I don't suffer from the claustrophobia/perceived asphyxia thing, not unless it's some seriously intense action like they do at training facilities. Seriously, who thinks hauling a fire hose up five floors is a good attack plan?

Also, word of advice: if you can, keep that kind of training for the winter, or buy a six-pack of water beforehand.

The technical thought of the day.

By rule of thumb I typically count a full air tank to last 30 minutes. Now, that for humans, and I know that time would hardly be enough to climb up and down a skyscraper with fire hoses.

Now we ain't dealin' with hoomans no mo'. Typically, Equestrian species are smaller, so I really wonder how long they should last on a regular tank. In this case, I deemed they had enough air with them considering they only had guns and the hazmat suits with them.

On a side note: I made a blog post with Rhine's data sheets. There is a gallery in there with pics and data on the auxiliaries too.

Chapter 43: Rocs Fall, Rocs Die

Up North, the hunt for the convergence point continued.

They decided to split up in two groups. Louis and Mikhail would escort Derek up the so-called ‘sacred path’ so the mage could make his observations. As for the rest, namely Elaena, Alejandro and Radiant, they’d stay at the farm to keep an eye on Sirocco and sift through her cargo hold for anything they could give Gunnar.

The farmer remained vehement about not coming back to Denmark with them. The farm was a family heirloom, and he had spent far too long tending the cattle and the vegetable patches to just abandon them. His ‘deal’ with the expeditionists remained the same: they’d take him to Narvik so he could replace his sunken speedboat (probably with a sailboat) to get a link between his farm and the rest of the region. They also shared Amandine’s satellite phone number with him, if the reindeer ever changed his mind.

Elaena also elaborated on Gunnar’s theoretical flight ability.

“Wait, like a Christmas reindeer?” Alejandro did a double take when she said that.

“No clue what Christmas is, but I know reindeer tribes fly over to Equestria each year for Heart’s Warming Eve. The lack of wing never seemed to bother them, they just… hover above ground.” She explained whilst digging through book-filled crate. “There it is!”

Alejandro peered over her shoulder to see her pull a thin book from under a stack of papers. It had a picture of a Pegasus mare with a pith helm posing for a picture with a demure reindeer doe. The snowy background also seemed to feature a village of thatch huts covered in snow with more reindeers around, all clad in vivid blue and red garb similar to Sami clothing. It had a title in English (or Equestrian, same thing really): ‘Daring Do’s nonfiction: Preindustrial Civilizations of the Northern Realms’.

Considering how Sirocco’s planned route would take her south once she was done with the sailors, giving Gunnar the ‘manual’ on his new species wouldn’t hurt. He was probably the only reindeer they’d cross path with. Elaena was also pretty damn certain Roberto had scanned and uploaded it in Amandine’s database already.

“Maybe I can fly, doesn’t change much.” Gunnar shrugged after accepting the book.

“Why so?”

“Alright, flying… gives me one way out of here. But I can do that already.” He pointed a cloven hoof at the mountains above them. “Plenty of trekking paths up there. But it’s no good for supplies.”

And flying wouldn’t be any better. What he needed to actually salvage stuff from nearby Narvik was a way to get a vehicle (with a load of cargo bigger than a backpack) from town to his farm; which only left him with boats as an option now that the main road had collapsed.

Maybe it could be fixed eventually, but that certainly wasn’t something that could be done by one man… or one buck in his case? Regardless, boating was something he’d have to resort to from now on.

All things considered Gunnar honestly wasn’t doing too badly as a survivor. He had food, water, a healthy stash of medicine in his bathroom’s cabinet… Power could easily be solved once he brought back some stuff from town with a salvaged (not stolen) boat. In fact, the biggest hazard so far probably came from the rocs.

“I’m not afraid.” Was all Gunnar said about the bords as he showed them the insides of his farm.

It wasn’t a bad place to live in. Very utilitarian, but the vast amounts of varnished wood and thick carpets did bring a cozy feel to the place. Gunnar went to an L-shaped couch near a coffee table, lifting the cushions off with his telekinesis.

“I can throw tools with my mind… drives them off.” He began, one cloven hoof lifting the lid off a concealed compartment under the couch. “But I got better if I need it.”

There was an olive green box under the couch. Gunnar casually flicked the code lock on it, to reveal the guns inside. A hunting shotgun and a bolt action rifle. Yeah, he may not necessarily use them, but he was covered in the arms department. If his guns were enough to drop a moose, then he had no reasons to fear the slate-feathered birds if they suddenly grew a pair.

At about the same time, Derek’s group had reached the edge of the forest.

Mikhail was with the group, and frankly right then the Ukrainian dragon could understand why Gunnar told them his dog was scared of the forest. There was some sort of weight hanging in the air, pressing down on his throat and ears with a soft thrumming.

“Sidereal was right…” Derek whispered in awe, the foci in his forearms crackling just from the ambient magic. “That convergence point… it’s something ancient.”

They had left the farmstead behind them, with its greenhouses, wooden fences and the cattle pens. Ahead was the forest, with its tall pines and the bushes that formed a barrier in front of them.

Derek pushed past the bushes and into the forest proper. They were on a narrow dirt path that snaked its way up the slopes towards the mountains, following a small mountain brook that likely supplied the farm with fresh water. The scent of pines and tree sap hung heavily in the air, filling their nostrils with its sharp smell.

All around them, tree trunks rose up perfectly straight along the slopes, the ground colored a dark orange from fallen needles. Bushes and nettles sprouted here and there, green splotches of color against the orange and brown of bark and fallen needles. The ground visibly sloped at a shallow angle, steadily climbing up the mountainside.

There were also rocks emerging from the ground in places, most of them covered in moss, some not, closer to the farm. Those were most likely stones Gunnar had removed from his fields and tossed in the forest.

The trek up the slope to the start of the ‘sacred path’ wasn’t too long. After a climb a couple hundred meters uphill, they reached a short cliff. It wasn’t particularly big, only three to four meters in height and with the forest already encroaching upon it. It ran for a couple hundred meters along the path, the carved cliff on one side and the brook on the other.

But what the cliff face showed… that made them certain they had reached their target.

Dozens –no, hundreds- of carvings both small and large covered the stone, every single one of them glowing softly in various shades of blue. Sparks of light flickered at random intervals on the carvings, as if the Event had supercharged the site and given it a new burst of energy. But there was more than just the glowing carvings…

The more they approached them, the more… vivid the world seemed to become around them. Colors became more intense, the sounds of birds and the wind in the trees became sharper, even the brook the path was following appeared to take on an unearthly sheen.

And then was the ever-present thrumming against their eardrums.

Derek was the first to approach the carvings, the gargoyle quickly conjuring up his mage sight as his hand carefully hovered above a line of runes.

“Fascinating…” He whispered. “I’ve been to several convergence points in the past. None of them were anything like this.”

Mikhail warily looked around. The place felt… weird. Far more intense than any mere carving had any right to be. A dry pine needle fell down from a branch above them, and the purple-scaled dragon watched the intense magical field wrap it in a blue glow mid-fall, gently accompanying it the rest of the way, like a snowflake in winter.

“So?” Armiger crossed his arms after he joined Derek next to the carvings.

“As I said Sir… The underlying magic here differs far more from Equus’ own magic than I’d first thought.” He frowned. “It’s like… back home we build sites and shrines on the convergence points and when you look at it, you can see there is a difference between the site itself, and the surrounding flow. But here? The magic’s a perfect match.”

The implications behind it were… puzzling, to say the least. Usually some civilization –or lifeform- would pop up on the convergence point to profit off the increased magic in the area. In each case, there was at least some measure of difference between the convergence point’s magic and that of whatever building was found there.

In the case of these carvings however… Derek had a perfect match in front of him. As if the carvings had been chiseled out just as the convergence point formed.

The thing was, as he fiddled with the tunings on his mage sight spell, he could see the difference between the original magic of the site –the humans’- and that which came after the Event. It was like… the new magic was a liquid, the convergence point a river, but now the riverbed was filled with seawater instead of freshwater.

“I need more observations.” Derek stated after he recorded his readings on a blank quartz gem. “The reindeer, he did say the path goes up to the mountaintop, right?”

“That he did.” Mikhail nodded. “You think we’ll need to go that far?”

“We’ll see.” He shrugged. “I need to look at the history of this place to figure out more.”

And look at its history he did. Together the three of them marched on uphill, through the forest that they soon left behind. All along the way they’d stop at regular intervals so Derek could take a look at some more carved stones, or an old cairn built alongside their path. They all kept that eerie blue glow about them, the energy in the air still palpable even when they left the forest.

Bushes and lichen traded place with the pines, rocks slowly starting to become more prevalent the higher they got. But still, carved stones with runes and drawings of the men of old popped up along the way. Derek would sometimes stop just to take a look, other times he’d take a blank gemstone from the pouches on his rig to record a magical reading or just write something down in a thin leather-bound book.

The oddest thing was… even though they were now pretty high up and still going, none of them experienced any difficulty from the effort. As if… well, come to think of it the convergence point probably did energize them. That would go a long way towards explaining how they could casually trek halfway up the mountain without getting tired.

Mikhail paused to look back. Way down below them, the tip of the fjord and Gunnar’s farm were now nothing but a blotch, with Sirocco’s balloons hardly distinguishable from the herds of cattle around it at this distance. Normally he’d probably be concerned about the cold at that altitude, but he was a dragon now. They ran hot.

Very hot. He could do just fine with his plate carrier and coveralls above his scales despite the cold mountainous weather. Derek and Armiger however, both paused just long enough for the gargoyle to cast a quick warming spell.

“Anything new here?” The dragon quickly asked, turning his eyes uphill to the steep path that still awaited them.

If Derek was willing to carry his boss, they might be able to just glide back down to the farm when they reached the top.

“Sort of.” Derek looked up from his notebook as he finished copying a few lines of runes. “I’m starting to get the gist of this place’s history.”

“Well, don’t keep us in the dark. Shoot.”

“So I have this theory…

The ‘new’ magic from after the Event doesn’t match the original. That rules out the Event actually being a resurgence of magic. It’s completely different from what powered this place in the past.

Which means humans did have magic. Just not the specific kind that now popped up. This might be why it was so deadly to humans in the first place.

Second thing is, and this might come as a shock, the site isn’t built over the convergence point. The site is the convergence point.”

“Come again?”

“That’s what I was wondering about.” Derek explained. “I looked at this from the beginning of the path to here. The carvings are exactly as old as the site, and their progress in time is matched by the magic. So either these guys had the absolute luck of building their sacred site just as the convergence point formed or, the convergence point was formed because they built it.”

“I’m no expert in magic but I’m pretty sure that conflicts with at least half a dozen major principles on Equus.” Louis crossed his arms, tail lashing behind him.

“Exactly! On Equus, it wouldn’t make any sense. But here? The magic is similar to ours, not identical. And that’s not the only thing. I got some observations about that ‘magic disappeared at some point’ theory Sidereal told me about.”

“Explain.”

“Easy.” Derek turned to point at the carvings. “Let’s say the convergence point is like a river and we look past the current flow –which is overcharged-, and instead focus on the riverbed. At the bottom, it was really deep, like a river with strong flow. But up here…”

“It gets weaker.” Mikhail guessed.

“It does!” Derek enthusiastically pointed a finger at the dragon. “We’re nearing the top now, and we’ve gone from a wild river to… a quiet irrigation channel maybe. Before the Event came, the magic at this altitude was but a third of what’s at the bottom in intensity. At best. Something happened.”

Mikhail twisted his head to the side, reptilian eyes focusing on a drawing of a longboat depicting a group of raiders assaulting a burning abbey. He was tempted to touch it with his claw, but just approaching it felt like getting to close to a live wire.

“Are you sure it’s weaker? Because it doesn’t feel weaker.” He pointed out as he readjusted the shoulder strap of his rifle.

“Positive.” Derek nodded. “Remember: the entire site is saturated in magic anyway, that’s why it feels so strong now.”

“Gonna believe you then.” He shrugged. “So… we continuin’ up top or what?”

They didn’t have very long to go anyway. Soon enough the path leveled out, greeting them with the sight of a wide plateau just short of the mountaintops. The snow-capped summits still towered above them like quiet giants, a small glacier looming between two of them and feeding a small lake with its melt water. The source of the brook they had been following.

Short grass and lichen covered the entire frosted surface of the plateau, with a few purple mountain flowers peeking through here and there, stems bending under the billowing winds that raised Derek’s cloak.

But as picturesque as the landscape may have been, it mattered little when compared to what awaited them at the end of the ‘sacred path’. A barrow, an old Norse burial mound lay near the shore of the mountain lake.

Short cairns lined either side of the path as they made their way closer to its entrance. It appeared to be at the crossroads of two trekking paths, because there was also a direction pole there, to which some trekkers had attached a scarf.

A trophy of sorts probably, left there to hang in the billowing winds, the wooly strands a proud testimony that some alpinists had reached a milestone in their journey. With a bit of luck whoever had left it there wouldn’t reappear all alone near a mountain summit and had at least made it to a refuge before the Event struck.

Otherwise… well, let it be said that there is reappearing in a favorable position like a ship at anchor, and then you have reappearing alpinists.

The burial mound’s entrance was blocked. A single, smooth stone prevented intruders from reaching the inner chamber. Much like all cliffs along the path, carvings had been added to the stone. A proud sigil of Thor’s Hammer stood in the center, with numerous runes and lines forming a circle around it. But it was unlike the other carvings. Where what they had seen up until them was vivid and throbbing with energy, the stone was… faint, weak.

“Something’s different…” Mikhail whispered in Ukrainian.

Slowly, he walked over to the stone and laid a hand against it. Cold to the touch, with the slightest hint of a frost cover on it when he brushed his claws over the Hammer of Thor engraved on it. The thrumming energy was still there, but faint.

He frowned. There was something to it. He shifted his claw closer to the center of the engraving. A little bit stronger.

Curious as to what may happen, the purple dragon placed his palm directly against the center of the engraving, right on the Hammer.

A cold chill ran down his arm like a bolt of lightning, and then the world became blue.

“Open fire!” Schmitt immediately yelled at the sight of the gigantic monster climbing up the side of the convention center.

Her claws reached for the rifle strapped across her chest, and she went through the motions out of pure muscle memory. Shoulder, rack the cocking handle, and flick the safety off.

Not a second later, the crosshairs on her scope lined up with one of the hydra’s heads. Her claw depressed the trigger, at just about the same time as her teammates around her.

A whittling volley of 5.56 fire met the approaching threat, hitting it all over and scoring a few scrapes and cuts. Not to much effect however… 5.56 was decent against humans and similarly-sized threats.

The hydra was as far removed from such proportions as a creature could get. One of its heads was easily as big as a fully-grown Earth Pony, and its body wasn’t any smaller. It barely flinched when Pavlos joined them and opened up with his 7.62-fed MG3, even the blistering rate of fire of the German machinegun proved insufficient to repel the monster.

“Can’t the Piranhas shoot that bloody thing?!” Vadim yelled over the gunfire just as he was jamming a fresh mag in his modified FNC.

“Wrong side of the building, and we’re too high.” Pavlos answered.

“The fuck you mean, we’re too high?”

“They can’t elevate the guns high enough. No good.”

“Explosives?” Carlos joined in, the cockatoo firing from the hip at the hydra. “I mean, we got a grenade launcher right?”

Vadim quickly turned his head towards the only other griffon in the group, Valentyn. Rhine’s Second Engineer just finished dumping another mag down at the approaching monster before he noticed all the other sailors looking pointedly at him.

Or rather, at the M203 he had attached underneath his C7.

“Don’t look at me like that, I only got buckshot and teargas for that thing.” He quickly said. “Ain’t got the training to be fooling around with explosives.”

The building shook with the noise of breaking glass as the hydra climbed a floor higher. Schmitt steadied herself on a nearby coffee table before looking towards the edge in concern, glass shards raining down around her.

“Is anybody going to question the fact that this thing basically ignored the gas cloud below? Where did it come from anyway?!” Carlos yelled. “I’m pretty damn sure we’d have noticed the bloody thing in the lobby.”

“Hydras are immune to poison.” Sidereal quickly said, the mare still not fully recovered from the sight of the bodies around the lookout floor. For Faust’s sake, she could feel the carpet squelch from the blood it was soaked with!

“It wasn’t here.” Pulp scowled. “I’m pretty damn sure I just saw somepony teleport it in.”

“Four Horses?”

“Not sure, but definitely equine, could be them.”

The building shook again, bringing the discussion to a grinding halt and reminding them all of the looming threat.

“Schäiss!” Schmitt stumbled with a swear. “Keep the talk for later, if we can’t fight this thing then we gotta run.”

“So we’re just gonna leave?” Carlos quickly inquired to his superior.

“No point staying, that was a fucking trap.”

Pity they couldn’t just glide down, but the airtight chemsuits prevented that. That just left them with the option of… running down the stairs and hope the hydra didn’t notice they were going for it.

They could teleport however. Some of them at least. Sidereal had her limits, and she couldn’t teleport more than one of them at a time back to the Piranhas. Not fast enough at least, if they relied on her alone the hydra would have reached them long before they could teleport away.

Pulp was brought back first, and then Vadim, and then… she was forced to cut it short when the hydra reached the floor just below them. One last trip and the rest of them would have to settle for trying to run past a behemoth of a monster that was seemingly impervious to gunfire.

A minute later, Sidereal was offering them an awkward smile through the visor of her hazmat suit as she disappeared along with Valentyn. Schmitt turned to the remaining sailors after watching the mare teleport away in a flash of light.

Only four of them, all with a healthy air supply left for getting back to the APC’s. That should do it, right?

The orange dragon carefully listened for any sign of movement from the hydra as she twisted the valve on her SCBA and closed her suit.

Ammo check on her rifle? Still good..

Air supply? 200bar in the tank.

The others? Pavlos looked confident enough with the MG3 in the bosun’s hands. It looked comically big compared to the gargoyle’s frame. That left Carlos and Yancy, the two parrots looking quite uneasy through their visors.

“Ready?” She called out, one claw already reaching for the door handle.

On the other side was the staircase that would lead them back down into the gas cloud.

What followed was even more intense than the fight against the giant timberwolf in Lyngby. They all ran from staircase to staircase inside the convention center, going full speed through hazy hallways and past broken windows.

The hydra caught on quickly. They weren’t even one floor down when it intercepted them, one giant head ramming through a wall and snapping at Yancy. The Filipino macaw thankfully managed to roll underneath the attack, but the chase was now on.

They scattered like mice running away from a housecat. Pavlos and Schmitt went down one staircase, whilst Carlos and Yancy ran for the one on the other side of the building. The hydra may have four heads but it couldn’t be in two places at once.

The two Filipino parrots found themselves racing through the hallways and bashing doors open as they went. There was no sneaking away from the hydra, not as long as they were wearing SCBA’s that hissed loudly every time they breathed through their masks.

They would have to make it purely on speed. Speedy parrot or not, that was easier said than done in a chemsuit.

“Tae, I really didn’t want to fight monsters in that kind of environment.” Yancy loudly complained in Tagalog as the two of them quickly passed through a conference room.

“’cause you call that fighting?” Carlos stopped at an intersection to look for the nearest staircase. “Looks more like fleein’ to me. Take the next right.”

“Yeah, until we get it to the Piranhas; then that fucking thing will regret picking a fight with us.” The other parrot confidently said.

They had a few encounters with the hydra along the way, nearly each time they got close to a window or a staircase it would lunge at them with a head or two –the others gripping the building’s facade and holding it steady-. They were lucky the two of them had turned into something reasonably fast because they somehow managed to dodge its attacks.

Until they hit the third floor that is. Overconfidence is an insidious killer, and they had dared assume the monster had a pattern to its attacks.

The third floor was also where they first caught sight of the vast lobby and the staircases that descended on either side of the room, both linked together by glass terraces that must have brought a modern feel to the place in the past.

Maybe it was because the haze was thicker at that level, or because they were just getting tired, but they mistook a tinted window for an actual wall.

The hydra didn’t. The two parrots fully expected its next attack to come from a nearby broken window opposite the tinted window inside the staircase. They had their backs turned to it when one head rammed through, with gnashing fangs and malice-filled eyes.

The impact sent them both flying down the stairs. They fell two floors down on a nearby terrace, the landing so hard Carlos was pretty sure he heard bones crack when he impacted the ground. He pulled himself up on one elbow. The other one wasn’t responding.

He blinked. Something wasn’t right. He couldn’t feel anything on one side of his face and… he couldn’t see anything on that side.

“Ano?” He croaked, bringing up a hand to his blind side.

His blood ran cold.

He could feel a huge tear in his suit, the gash extending to his gas mask. Bloodstained glass shards were all around him, with Yancy lying face down a few meters away. The exposed side of his face started stinging. He quickly pressed down on the mask with a talon to protect the other half.

Worse even, was the soft hissing that was coming from where his air tank connected to his SCBA. A leak. The dial on his manometer was dropping by the second. It started whistling.

50 bar.

And through the murky haze that made up the gas cloud, through the white cloud of pain that was fogging up his vision, Carlos could see the toxic green orbs of the approaching hydra’s eyes.

Either Mikhail was unknowingly tripping like he never had, or magic really could do weird stuff. The moment the dragon laid his claws on the carved stone door, he activated something.

What it was exactly, he had no idea, for now at least.

“Eh Derek you got any idea what’s goin’ onnnn…” He trailed off as he turned around, not finding the gargoyle behind him.

Louis wasn’t here either. The two of them were just… gone. All around the world had changed, as if he was looking at it through a blue lens.

He still was next to the burial mound, but now it was as if something had dropped a fog dome over the area. He couldn’t see much further than fifty meters in all directions before his sight was obscured by a blue fog wall.

“I probably shouldn’t have touched that…” The purple dragon growled out in Ukrainian before looking for anything that may be out of place.

Nothing really. The place just looked… younger maybe? The cairns were a bit taller, the path and burial mound better maintained, but that was it.

Wait, no. There was a thin snow cover all around where just moments before the grass had been covered in frost.

The sound of crunching snow quickly made him turn around. Something was coming.

Someone actually.

A long file of ethereal silhouettes emerged out of the fog, all of them slowly walking towards the burial mound in a procession. The bluish shadows were all human, clad in clothing that must have dated back to the Viking age.

They were lead by what a chieftain, if his embroidered cloak and engraved belt were anything to go by. He walked right through Mikhail as if the dragon never even existed before coming to a stop a few steps short of the burial mound, one hand on his hip and the other stroking his braided beard.

Behind him was a catholic priest with an incenser, along with two robe-clad altar boys carrying a small tub.

Mikhail watched as a small crowd of ethereal shadows gathered round to witness the ceremony. The priest started opening and closing his mouth while gesturing at the burial mound with his incenser in a silent sermon.

After a few minutes of that display, the altar boys came back, the tub now filled with water from the nearby lake. The chieftain came forward, shedding his cloak and passing it to a nearby woman –his wife most likely-.

The priest baptized the chieftain. In front of the ancient burial mound. The moment his head emerged out of the water, Mikhail took note of how the vision dimmed, but it kept going.

A smith emerged out of the crowd carrying a ceremonial hammer and a bundle covered in cloth. He passed it to the newly-baptized chieftain just as the priest started reciting another silent sermon to the crowd.

He unfurled the cloth to reveal a small brass cross.

The vision stopped the moment the chieftain hammered it into the lintel of the burial mound.

Mikhail blinked.

The shadows were gone; the blue lens off his eyes, and the world was normal once more. Wind howled against his ears as he realized he was back near the door, claw pressed against it as if the vision never happened.

Gingerly, the dragon lifted his head and brushed a patch of moss off of the lintel piece. There it was, the cross was gone but the discoloration on the stone made it very clear it had been there.

“Whelp, that’s not something you see everyday.” He muttered.

“Mikhail?”

The Ukrainian jerked his head away from the lintel. Derek was right behind him, the gargoyle mage throwing him a concerned look.

“Everything alright?”

“Would you believe me if I told you I just had a vision?” The dragon quirked an eyeridge at the shorter gargoyle.

“Yes. You were in trance for the best part of five minutes. What did you see?”

“A ceremony. Not the burial of whoever is in there mind, but his descendants switching religion. The vision stopped the moment they concluded the ceremony. That makes sense to you?”

“Well uh…” Derek rubbed the underside of his muzzle. “Wouldn’t be the first time religion and magic are tied.”

“Gentlemen?” Louis interrupted, the cat putting a paw on Derek’s shoulder. “I’m sure this is all fascinating, but I feel I have something you might find needs be addressed first.”

“What?”

The Abyssinian calmly pointed at an approaching flock of birds.

No, rocs actually.

“Just a few monsters, nothing too troublesome. I say we remove the pests then go back to the farm to chat about this, no?”

Mikhail’s response was just to cock his rifle, a predatory grin already creasing the edges of the dragon’s maw.

He had been exposed to the gas, that much he could feel. The stinging pain in the side of his face was rising steadily as Carlos watched the hydra’s heads loom over him. He was pretty sure he caught the crackle of chatter on his walkie-talkie, but either the thing was damaged or he just couldn’t make anything out from the buzzing in his ears.

“Kainin mo tae ko…” He muttered as he gathered what strength he had left in his uninjured arm to lift the gun he was still clutching in his talons.

He was more aware of the vibrations his weapon made when he pulled the trigger than the seemingly distant popping of gunfire, as if he was watching it all through a muted TV. The hydra faltered, more because he actually managed to hit it in the eye with a stray shot than because the rounds actually did any damage.

Then it roared at him with all its heads.

The sheer noise freed him from the painful haze he’d been wrapped in for the last few seconds, reality suddenly taking on a sharp contrast as if someone had just dropped a bucket of water on his head.

‘I’m about to die.’ The thought ran through his mind.

Thankfully, this was not to be. A crashing noise below him drew his and the hydra’s attention. One of the Piranhas had rammed its way inside the lobby, its .50cal instantly swiveling in the hydra’s direction.

“Run Carlos!” Schmitt’s voice echoed through his radio, the audio finally making sense.

The Piranha opened fire. That had more effect on the monster than anything they had tried prior. Carlos didn’t linger to see whether that was enough to kill it however. Instead, he pushed himself up and sprinted towards Yancy’s crumpled form.

With the writhing form of the hydra just above him as it was being shot at with a .50cal, he wrapped his talons around his downed compatriot’s suit and started pulling him towards the stairs. The hydra was being pushed back, but the .50cal just might not be enough to actually take it down.

Not that it mattered to him. What did right then, was getting the downed parrot to the APC’s despite his nonfunctional arm and his dwindling air supply. He practically dragged him by the arm to the nearest staircase where the two of them more or less hurtled down the stairs.

The two parrots must have made for quite the spectacle when Carlos finally reached the APC’s. Him with his gun and arm hanging limply, his good arm tiredly dragging the limp form of a barely-alive Yancy. There was a huge tear in his chemsuit and gasmask, painfully exposing some of his feathers and one eye to the gas cloud.

Thankfully for him, the mouthpiece of his gasmask was still mostly intact, contrarily to Yancy’s who was now letting out sick wheezes. There were blood clots dripping from his beak whenever the blue and gold macaw exhaled.

A certain griffon pulled them inside as soon as he reached the rear ramp, and Carlos soon found himself strapped down in a seat with his gasmask hooked to the Piranha’s air supply. Vadim was upon him immediately after the ramp closed and the Piranha motored away from the building.

Idly, Carlos wondered who was behind the wheel right then. After all, he and Yancy were supposed to drive…

“What happened?” Vadim barked, the Medical Officer looking over the barely conscious form of Yancy lying at their feet.

Vadim quickly got to work on Yancy first. The macaw really wasn’t looking too good, and Vadim wouldn’t be able to do much until they were out of the city and had decontaminated the vehicles.

The fall had damaged his suit far more than it had damaged Carlos’, not only exposing his entire face to the gas, but his respiratory tract as well. The skin around the macaw’s eyes and under his feathers was a vivid red; and his eyes were bleeding with the pupils having turned a cloudy white.

For now, all Vadim could really do was grab a replacement gas mask and intubate him. For all the good it might do… they had no idea how bad the damage was to his lungs, and his low oxygen saturation didn’t bode too well.

“Will he make it?” Carlos wheezed out, shifting his weight this way and that so his broken arm would stop hurting.

“I… I’m not sure.” Vadim shook his head. “He breathed in a lot of gas… his lungs could be burned for all I know.”

“Health potion?”

“I can try, but it’s no guarantee.” He threw a glance at the oximeter he had just tied to Yancy’s finger, watching the readout slowly but surely fall. “They’re made for first-aid… that here, this could be pretty advanced. Plus I don’t exactly know what was in the gas cloud; there could be toxins in there for all I know.”

Carlos wasn’t doing too good either, but at least it didn’t seem life threatening. He could still breathe mostly fine, though he might have inhaled some gas as well. His throat ached. What concerned him most was the wound on the side of his face. He couldn’t see anything on that side and he was starting to get worried by the pain spikes he was experiencing, along with the numbness around the entire area.

As for his arm, he was pretty sure he could go without a splint for a little while.

The two APC’s showed no trouble in escaping the city, the hydra didn’t even follow, probably skulking away to lick the wounds they had inflicted it. Still, in Vadim’s mind every second they spent inside the gas cloud was a second too long. Yancy’s oxygen levels slowly but surely shrank down on the oximeter, yet he couldn’t do anything for him inside the contaminated atmosphere.

A few minutes later, they emerged out of the cloud with their engines roaring, pulling up in a gas station along the highway as soon as they found one. Yancy was immediately laid out on the asphalt whilst Schmitt walked off, barking a report into a satellite phone.

“What do you mean that was an ambush?” Dilip’s voice rang out.

“Exactly what’s that supposed to mean.” She growled. “The survivors were dead, recently too.”

“Then why did they pop up on Sidereal’s radar?”

“Decoy foci. Some kinda gem. Some-pony dropped a monster on us soon as we reached the top floor, probably Four Horses. Got two casualties.”

“Is it serious?”

Schmitt’s eyes flicked to where Vadim was tending to Yancy. The blue and gold macaw’s feathers were peeling off and sticking to his chemsuit when the griffon pulled it off. The grey falcon griffon’s gaze crossed hers and he gave her a meaningful look.

Don’t get your hopes high.

“One is life-threatening. Lung damage, we’ll see what we can do with the health potions.”

“Tell Sidereal to teleport back with the wounded if she can. I’ll be contacting Delacroix.”

“Got it.” She nodded despite the Diamond Dog being unable to see her.

“And… Schmitt? Nobody could have foreseen this.”

“I’m not so sure about that.” She replied bitterly. “See ya’ Dilip.”

She had them decontaminate the Piranhas while Vadim was still busy trying to stabilize their casualty. Carlos was there by his side, the injured Filipino holding his compatriot’s claw with his uninjured limb.

To Vadim’s credit, there wasn’t much that could be done. He only had a couple health potions to spare; one went down his throat, the other he injected directly in his left lung, just so he could have some hope. For what it was worth: by the time he had Sidereal teleport back to Copenhagen, his oxygen saturation had dropped even more and his grip on Carlos’ claw was as feeble as that of a dying elder.

Carlos stared down at the space Yancy had occupied a few seconds prior. There were only some yellow and blue feathers there, some blood, and Yancy’s discarded equipment. He mutely looked down at his palm, where the other parrot had left him a rosary. He rolled the wooden beads in his talons for a few seconds.

“Carlos?” Vadim nudged his shoulder.

“Will he be okay?”

“I can’t make promises like that and you know it.” The griffon shook his head softly. “He’s in Camille’s talons now; she should know her stuff far better than I do.”

“Yeah…” Carlos’s sole good eye was fixated on the rosary. “She should...”

“Let’s get you patched up pal. I don’t like the look of that eye.”

Carlos didn’t answer. He just stayed immobile as Vadim pulled his medical satchel closer and went to work on his injuries.

Things were going far better up North.

The trio of ‘adventurers’ had fallen back to the edge of the mountain lake to receive the rocs’ assault. Mikhail could see about a dozen of them in the attacking flock, all beating their slate-covered wings in unison as they approached.

“Plan?” He asked out loud, quickly checking that he had a round chambered.

His C7 had a grenade launcher as well, but the Ukrainian veteran doubted frag grenades would be adequate against birds, regardless of how big they were.

“As usual with rocs. Bait them into diving, then pick them off once they’re grounded.” Derek rolled his shoulders, a hint of confidence seeping in the gargoyle’s tone.

“I see… thirteen of them, I think. You sure that’s favorable odds?”

“Aye.” The gargoyle nodded. “You two do the shooting, I’ll be the bait. One thing though.”

“Spit it out.”

“Stay in the circle.” He said over his shoulder before unfastening his cloak.

The drab brown fabric fell down on the cold damp dirt of the lake’s shores, fully revealing his leathery wings which he cracked, one after another. Mikhail and Louis watched him take off, only to come to a hover a meter or two above the ground.

No small feat if you recalled the billowing winds that swept the mountains.

Derek reached for a pouch on his rig before pulling out two gems tucked between his fingers.

“Show time…” The young mage muttered in his native tongue before pointing one gem at the ground.

In a practiced motion, he focused the magic in his forearm while slowly drawing magic from the gem in the center of his rig. He ‘drew’ an intricate pattern in the air before delicately redirecting the spell towards one of the gems he was holding.

Spell one. He released his grip on the magic and one purple bolt shot out of the amethyst before impacting the ground with a sizzle. An iridescent circle the same color as the spell appeared on the ground, some twelve meters in diameter.

Time for spell two then. This time the spell was fired from a garnet, and the moment he released his grip on the magic, his entire body took on a red aura.

Immediately he noticed the rocs alter their course ever so slightly. Good. That meant the spell took hold on their minds. He carefully glanced back at his companions. Provided they stayed in that warding circle, the simple Want It-Need It shouldn’t take hold on them.

Granted his version was made specifically for simple-minded critters, but it never hurt to be careful, particularly with mind magic like that.

He checked back towards the rocs. Still a few seconds to go.

Swap gemstones. Grab a quartz. Quick air-resistance spell for speed. Put back quartz. Pull out the peridot. Just a small kinetic ward for good measure and then…

Derek quickly folded one wing to roll away from the first attack. Right, no time for fancy spell lattices. Like the teachers always said back at the academy: lots of spells is fine, but always try to make do with as few spells as you can.

He had wings. Might as well use them.

The first roc crashed down below him and he fired a quick grounding spell at it before it could take off again. There was a loud ‘bang!’, and the bird dropped dead, courtesy of Louis’ breechblock rifle. The long, paper-cartridge fed weapon was made to hunt creatures as big as manticores, and the cat didn’t have any trouble landing a shot on the first bird.

Because of course he had taken something more than just a flintlock pistol for the trip. The gun was something a noble hunter would use: engraved barrel, rifled using brand new machinery and with a lens to assist aiming. Louis hardly needed the lens, he was a prescient Abyssinian, he always knew exactly where to aim without even needing to look.

Derek didn’t bother shooting his grounding spells at rocs in flight. He was never much of a good shot and adding a homing effect to the spells would take too long. Instead, he used their lack of wits against them. Just stay below the birds, slow down enough to bait a dive and let gravity do the rest.

He could always shoot the grounding spell once they were nice enough to crash. Much easier.

The skirmish was over in a matter of minutes with much ducking and weaving on Derek’s part. Much to Louis’ disappointment, the Abyssinian only claimed the life of two rocs, the rest of the kills going to Derek and Mikhail. Not much of a surprise really: the dragon’s Canadian M16 variant was much better at following up shots than the single-shot rifle the noble used.

As for Derek…

They were on the last three birds of the flock when he judged the skies were clear enough. Two sapphires found their way in his hands before he started flying higher, the birds eagerly following. His forearms became wreathed in magic as he focused his power once more. With the convergence point nearby, he might as well use the ambient power for all its worth…

He let the power flow through his gems, one blindingly bright icy blast firing down at the three birds that were still following him. With a loud screech, they became completely encased in ice and started falling.

Now for the finishing move.

Derek wove a wide circle in the air with his arms before cupping both hands together. One bright yellow orb of magic lanced out of his open palms before flying down to strike the frozen birds just as they crashed on the ground.

On the mountain plateau, there was nothing left of those birds but a crater and a few ashes. That was why he was Louis’ bodyguard. Raw battlemage firepower.

“You’re making me envious with that thing.” Louis remarked once the fight was over, quickly holstering his own gun as he was kneeling by a dead roc and pointing at Mikhail’s.

“What can I say, we humans are good at making guns. This American stuff isn’t really my cup of tea, but I can make do.” Mikhail patted the C7 with a perfectly draconic grin.

He’d still rather be using an AK-style platform, just for the sake of comfort. Having the cocking handle in the center just felt… weird. Plus he was a left-handed shot, having the handle on the right like on most AK’s (and in extenso Amandine’s FNC’s, since they had similar internals) just felt plain better.

“I know some countries have repeaters back on Equus, but nothing like what you have here.” Louis commented before pulling out a knife.

“You goin’ to take a trophy?”

“Correct.”

The point of his knife hovered above the bird. He paused.

“You don’t know how to take a trophy.”

“That is also correct.” Louis nodded.

Derek landed just behind him after just having retrieved his discarded cloak.

“Allow me boss, I can cast a preservation spell. We’ll keep it that way until we get back.”

“Ah yes. Let’s do that.” Louis stood up with a nod. “I do remember a few contacts talking about that taxidermist in the Royal District on Queen’s Avenue.”

More like he had been invited to visit a rival’s collection. He definitely could use one himself, and probably with better stories to accompany the creatures than just ‘went looking for it on a hunt, shot it, the end’.

A minute of making a hammerspace pouch for the trophy and a new addition to his collection later, Derek was casting a lightweight spell on Louis. They walked over to the edge of the mountain, looking down at the fjord, way down where Sirocco awaited their return.

“You sure you don’t want to walk boss?”

“Let’s not waste time and take to the skies.” The feline smiled.

Mikhail himself was rather tempted to just walk. He had really just begun training his flight abilities and that… He looked down and down and down at the farmstead in the distance. How far was that by flight? Five kilometers? Six?

Still just gliding, but that was quite the leap (litteraly!) from just jumping off a few containers with his wings extended a few days earlier.

And he had taken the time to adapt his gear for his wings since the ponies’ arrival. Two zippers had been added to the back of his white coveralls, along with extra fabric for comfort. He had also removed the back plate on his plate carrier, to go with narrowing the ‘back’ section. Screw getting shot in the back, he was a dragon, made of steel might as well be an understatement for the reptiles.

Beside him, he watched Derek wrap his arms under Louis’ armpits.

“You ready?”

He nodded.

They jumped.

The feeling was exhilarating. Wind howled against the dragon’s leathery wings. He could feel himself naturally level out in a semi-horizontal position in flight, his wings easily supporting his weight without requiring him to even flap them.

For a second, he let himself close his eyes just to feel the wind brush against his scales. He could hear the skin of his wings flap in the wind, not unlike a kite’s fabric.

“Mikhail?” Derek politely interrupted.

“Yeah?” He didn’t bother opening his eyes.

“Tree.”

His eyes shot open. With a long stream of curses learned both as a sailor and during his stint with Ukraine’s Naval Infantry, he wrenched his wings, barely managing to swerve around a particularly tall pine. They were already back at forest level.

“Word of advice: you fly better with your eyes open.” Derek chuckled.

Mikhail didn’t respond. The rosy tint of a blush easy to notice even through the purple scales on his muzzle.

A minute later, they reached Gunnar’s farm.

“Hello world, DJ Jensen here with WSU Radio. Hope you’re having a nice day, got some interesting stuff for you lot.” Sandra began cheerfully.

She was comfortably nestled in her desk chair with a few pillows tucked between her and the armrests, her mic hanging just above her muzzle. Quite the comfy spot, particularly with the fresh kettle she had set down next to her consoles.

“Haven’t got an answer from any of you yet, but it’s just been a few days since I started broadcasting now. Gotta be patient you know? Anyway, got a few important points to tell you.

You’re not alone, folks. Hold on a sec’, I know what you’re thinking: ‘Well duh, I’m listening to your Danish ass blabbering on the radio, of course I’m not alone’. It’s a bit more complicated than that. It’s not just us survivors on this planet. What I meant by ‘not alone’ is ‘not alone in the galaxy’.

No your radio isn’t broken, that’s exactly what I meant. We have aliens on Earth. Those monsters you see all over the place? They’re aliens, and bad guys brought them. Thing is, the aliens, they look like us. No I don’t mean they’re humans. They’re the same kind of aliens we turned into. Ponies, parrots, gargoyles.

But we got two types of aliens apparently. Good ones. Bad ones. The good ones are alright, they just want to help, teach you flying, magic, that kind of stuff. But the bad ones? Folks, careful there ‘cause I’m pretty sure they’re out to kill you. On the bright side, there shouldn’t be that many of them.

Still, guns are definitely something you should look into –if you haven’t already-. Just don’t go shooting everything around you. That would be bad now, wouldn’t it?

‘But DJ, how do we make the difference?’ I bet that’s what you’re wondering now. Should be easy. The bad guys, they’re bandits, pirates, terrorists. Hel, if intel is to be trusted these guys are lead by honest-to-god demons. Compare that to the other aliens who basically just want to do humanitarian aid and, well…

Put this into perspective: you wouldn’t mistake a UN soldier for a Somalian pirate? Much less if the pirate is a cultist to boot.

Just stay safe. Don’t head out in the open carelessly. Take a look from a safe distance, just so you can figure out whether they’re a good guy or bad guy.

Guess that’ll be it for today. Up next is Frank Sinatra with ‘My way’.”

Author's Note

Do you know what they say about female reindeers? They got a nice rack. Sorry i couldn't resist.

And here we witness the weakness there was in their system with the hazmat suits and Piranhas: it works well if you're doing okay, but since the interior of the vehicles is contaminated, you're in for some pain once your suit is breached. The fact they're using retrofitted masks for their new forms instead of purpose-built versions (that haven't even been designed) makes them all the more fragile.

Chemicals inhalation... it's no joke. In fact as a word of warning, someone with burnt airways (be it from smoke or worse, chemicals) may seem fine at first if the lungs aren't too damaged, but swelling can rapidly occur afterwards, possibly resulting in choking the patient if he wasn't intubated in time.

In the present case, the parrots weren't exposed that long, but these avians got the 'canary in the coalmine' effect. I'm working off the assumption that these birds' respiratory tract functions at a higher rate than humans, hence the vulnerability to gases.

On a brighter note, I think the idea of having reindeers echo Sami culture on Equus is rather endearing. Funny even, when you imagine anthropologist (might have to adjust that term) Daring Do valiantly venturing into the tundra to research those tribes.

Chapter 44: Farewells

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Chapter 45: Pillars of Broceliande

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Chapter 46: She Popped Out Of Nowhere!

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Chapter 47: A Mage's Secret

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Chapter 48: My Little Armalite

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Chapter 49: Late Delivery Penalties

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Chapter 50: The Switzerland Clause?

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Chapter 51: Conflicting Claims

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Chapter 52: One Shot Paddy's Stronghold

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Chapter 53: Arboreal Mystery

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Chapter 54: Find the Health and Safety Violation

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Chapter 55: Irish Countryside

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Chapter 56: Ancient Divinity

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Chapter 57: Lady Morgane of Broceliande

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Chapter 58: Hunting Season

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Chapter 59: Celtic Diplomacy

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Chapter 60: Who's Luna?

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Chapter 61: Party Time

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Chapter 62: Excalibur

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Chapter 63: The Boomer

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Chapter 64: From Below the Waves...

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Chapter 65: Engineering Woes, 600 Feet Under

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Chapter 66: Celestial Navigation 101

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Chapter 67: In Which a Fawn Is Being Cute

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Chapter 68: Savannah

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Chapter 69: Signal Flag Alpha

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Chapter 70: Roof Kirins

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Chapter 71: Georgian Banditry

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Chapter 72: Clerical Matters

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Chapter 73: Horned God of the Celts

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Chapter 74: Kings Bay

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Chapter 75: Terra da Garoa

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Chapter 76: The Assault

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Chapter 77: The Duel

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Chapter 78: Cleaning Up

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Chapter 79: A Vet's Tale

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Chapter 80: Running down to Cuba

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Chapter 81: It's a Different Kind of Magic

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Chapter 82: First Artifact

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Chapter 83: They Live Below

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Chapter 84: Ghost mage talks to tree, grows frustrated

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Chapter 85: Soul-in-a-Can™

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Chapter 86: Enchanted Forests and Supply Lines

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Chapter 87: Farming Commune

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Chapter 88: Inner Demons

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Chapter 89: Goodbye Cuba

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Chapter 90: So you scoop out the marrow and take a chisel...

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Chapter 91: Into the Jungle

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Chapter 92: Tribals, Cultists and... Airship?

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Chapter 93: It's a Dog's Life

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Chapter 94: Stranded Mares

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Chapter 95: Mexican Standoff(s)

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Chapter 96: Winged Hussar

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Chapter 97: Basque in the Heat of Battle

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Chapter 98: Bitter Victory

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Chapter 99: A growth spurt? I'm 42!

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Chapter 100: Empires Physical and Mental

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Chapter 101: Actual Acts of Gods

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Chapter 102: Demonic Stirrings

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Chapter 103: Magic... works in mysterious ways...

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Chapter 104: Frightening France

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Chapter 105: Eyes in the sky

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Chapter 106: As for what happens underground...

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Chapter 107: The Coming Plights

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Chapter 108: Of Divine Ire and Curses

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Chapter 109: Gods, and those that act like they are

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Chapter 110: Guns of Belem - Gunnery Skills Not Included

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Chapter 111: One creaks, the other squeaks, the last shrieks...

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Chapter 112: Let Beat the Drums of War

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Chapter 113: Counterstrike

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Chapter 114: Turnabout

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Chapter 115: When a Demigod Gets Going...

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Chapter 116: Bullets are one thing, but knives make it PERSONAL!

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Chapter 117: For the sake of peace...

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Chapter 118: Missed it by *that* much.

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Chapter 119: Gotta make do with the cards you’re dealt… somehow...

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Chapter 120: Oh Rats...

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Chapter 121: The Last Note

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Chapter 1: A Shocking Awakening

Vadim awoke to the sound of the bridge's alarm, the one tool that was supposed to ensure no Officer would fall asleep during their watch. Apparently that worked out poorly this time, though for the life of him he couldn’t recall how he wound up lying on the ground in the middle of the bridge.

The ship rolled and an empty mug slid lazily in front of his eyes. Oh yeah, he was sipping his coffee when he was knocked out by the mother of all electric storms or something. He remembered some sort of pink lights before blacking out.

The ship rolled to the other side and the discarded mug crossed his vision again. With his mind still a bit hazy, Vadim followed the object with his gaze. It came to a rest at the foot of the door that led to the port bridge wing. He saw a slightly overcast but well-lit sky outside.

Wait a second.

Well-lit.

And he had the first watch.

The alarm rang again and Vadim practically bolted upright, only to stumble and catch himself on a console with his hands when his feet failed him. He slammed a palm against the alarm's reset button and froze.

Pressed against the button was something that certainly didn’t look like his hand. First off it the colour was wrong. The appendage was covered in a matte yellow layer of slightly scaly skin. The fingers, one less than on a human hand, were arranged differently with the “thumb” further away from the rest of the fingers, each ending in a wickedly sharp talon.

The young slav's eyes followed the limb upward, a yellowish scaly hide covering his arm up to the elbow at which point the scales were replaced with dark frey feathers. The grey was only broken up by the bright orange of his coveralls’ sleeve somewhere above the elbow where he had folded it. Looking behind him, he spotted his discarded jacket on the spot where he’d fallen seconds ago.

Looking back like he did allowed him to spot a flicker of brown in the corner of his vision. He attempted to turn around to follow the object but the moment he let go of the console he was leaning on he lost his balance and once again got acquainted with the floor. Landing on his back sent a sharp jolt of pain coming from two bulges in the middle of his back. Vadim instinctively let out what sounded like an irritated growl and grit his teeth.

This seemingly harmless act brought its own set of problems because he now noticed that his arm wasn’t the only body part affected by whatever it was that caused him to grow claws and lose some fingers: right in the middle of his vision (which, by the way, now appeared oddly sharp and with a wider field of vision) protruded a matte yellow object.

He brought up his hand to feel it, and lo and behold, it was a beak. The sharp and slightly curved appendage –like a falcon's, he could feel the notorious tooth shaped indentation- poked out of the middle of his face. It looked like he would need a mirror later on, he noted numbly.

Vadim slowly crawled backwards and used the console he leaned on to prop up his torso. Once he felt himslef stable, he took a long look at the rest of his body.

Even through his clothing, he could easily spot how misshapen he now was : the way his shoes bent and the pain in his feet made it very clear he would need a new pair. The shape of his hips was all wrong, and his legs looked shorter as well. This had the effect of making his coveralls look a couple sizes too big for him.

And then there was the tail. Covered in light brown fur and ending in a darker, almost black tone of colour, it poked out of the rear of his clothing, having torn a hole in the seat of the coveralls.

He could also spot some grey downy feathers spilling out of his collar.

Worst of all, the two bulges Vadim had felt on either side of his back when he fell were visibly straining the fabric of his coveralls.

All in all the poor Ukrainian was pretty weirded out by what happened to him, understandably.

“What the fuck is this...” He muttered somberly in Ukrainian. The more alarming part of this all was that the sky was clearly indicating that it was at least early morning, yet no one had come to the bridge to wake him up in the meantime, allowing him to merrily snooze on duty for a couple hours. Logically the bridge's alarm should have at least warned someone when he failed to reset it on time.

Except that, even more bizarre (as if that wasn’t enough already), the bridge's clock indicated that it was 01.30, meaning that he was only out for a couple minutes (not that it was any better) instead of a couple hours. It didn't appear to be damaged either.

Crawling back to the radio station, he quickly checked on the navtex to see if the ship had received any of the periodical automated messages, but no, there was nothing in the message log except for messages they had received prior to the electrical storm. This couldn’t be a fault in the system, the Captain himself had programmed the weather stations into the bloody thing and the antennas had been inspected two days before the event. Still, there should be a new forecast in the log.

Confusion growing by the minute, Vadim walked over to the electronic chart display. Or rather: he attempted to. The moment he let go of the console he was leaning on, he once again got a faceful of the flooring. He let out an exasperated sigh and gave an annoyed glare at his own misshapen legs.

All while keeping his eyes locked onto his rear; he twisted himself so that he was lying on his side and tried moving his leg and foot. First came the foot, which bore a similar connection to his leg as it was before, so no problem there save for the continuous discomfort he was getting from within his shoes.

Step number two: trying out the knee. There, he noticed a slight problem as his knee felt much closer to his hip than it had any right to be. The range of motion, however, stayed similar to that of a human knee.

The last step turned out to be the real problem because if he could probably overcome the higher position of the knees; the range of motion of his new hip prevented him outright from walking on two legs. He simply couldn’t move it far enough backwards. He could probably manage to stand up relatively normally if he could figure out how to balance which ought to be doable, but the hip structure prevented him from taking any significant step without leaning forward so much that he’d fall. Whatever he’d turned into definitely was some kind of quadruped species.

Resigning himself to stick with the four-leg drive option for now (which came with no small amount of internal mantras to prevent himself from collapsing into complete misery), Vadim shakily hoisted himself onto his four brand new limbs. The position wasn’t very stable but it was a definite improvement over trying to walk upright. Still, from that height he could barely peek over the consoles that bore the navigation instruments, being halfway as tall as a human.

He shook his head in annoyance and centered himself once again. First off, figure out what the hell happened and what was wrong with the clock and the sky, only then would he let himself fall into self-pity. He slowly but surely began walking toward his original objective: the electronic chart display, which would tell him a number of things about the ship and hopefully yield some answers. Vadim kept a close focus on the order of legs as he walked, front left, rear right, front right, rear left, one at a time. “Kiddy steps” He muttered to himself “One at a time, learn to walk before you learn to run like they say”.

The mantra didn’t stop him from falling over once, letting out a loud “Kurwa” in passing (so what?, he lived in Poland, of course he’d pick up some of the local profanities), but he did make it to the console. Thankfully for him, the console was right beside the navigator’s seat so he just lifted himself up by grabbing an armrest and secured himself firmly in place. The position wasn’t comfortable because of the tail and the protrusions in his back, but he was at least in a position from which he could achieve something.

He gave a gentle tap on the keyboard with one of his talons (he would have to be careful with those, they looked kinda sharp) and the screen sprung to life. A quick survey of the screen’s contents allowed him to better assess the situation: the ship had barely moved during the time he had been out. Amandine was completing a lazy circle around her anchor, still safely secured to the ground if the tension on the chain was anything to go by.

Yet some information was still puzzling him: while the ship’s digital clock indicated that it was indeed a little past 01.30, the time check he was getting from the GPS satellites was telling him it was about nine in the morning. Adding to that was the fact that the direction of the current had suddenly reversed (not a problem to the safety of the ship by itself but it shouldn’t be occurring in the first place, the tide was supposed to swing around by dawn that day).

All these problems with the time however, were but a fickle when Vadim gave a second hard glance at the electronic chart in front of him. Usually in this part of the world the chart would be showing him a large number of green arrows moving about, the symbol being a representation of other ships observed with the instruments, be they from the radar or the radio transponder.

There were no such symbols on the chart. The only transponder data they were receiving was coming from buoys marking some sandbanks in their vicinity.

Vadim double checked his findings by casting a glance at the radar; maybe the link with the chart was defective or something else. But no: none of the radar antennas were spotting any vessel in the vicinity, not even the trademark pilot vessel that ought to be anchored in visual range of them. In fact, of the fifty something vessels anchored in the area, a lot of which could easily be seen from the bridge earlier, all of them had mysteriously disappeared. The only things present around the ship at the moment were a couple buoys and some offshore wind farms far off in the distance.

The Ukrainian was in deep thought, trying to fit all pieces in a puzzle that didn’t make much sense. By force of habit he began to rub his temples with the tip of his fingers but hissed in pain when his sharp claws almost pierced his skin. Another habit he would have to be mindful of until he solved his feather problem (which had to be linked with the navigational conundrum he was facing, not that he knew in which manner). Vadim resumed the motion, but this time with his knuckles, feeling less like rubbing the tip of a knife against his skull.

Now to the matter at hand, one more time.

First off, the radio picks up some static on a seemingly random set of wavelengths.

Second, big bright pink electromagnetic storm knocks him out. The time at which the event occurred was 01.23 according to both the GPS time and the ship’s clocks from what he remembered.

Third, he wakes up to the sound of the bridge alarm. Ship time was 01.30 but the outdoor lighting was indicative of morning. What did the GPS time tell him then? 09.03.

Vadim grabbed a pen from a drawer and began to write it all down on the back of an old navigational note. Having to write with knives for hands and with one less digit barely made him better than a doctor, but as long as it could be read he didn't mind.

Next up, the ship didn’t receive any of the periodical navtex messages and neither Alejandro (the Chief Officer) nor Micha came to take their watch. And he only heard the bridge alarm once knowing it starts beeping every 15 minutes if he doesn’t reset it.

Just in case he pressed the alarm's button.

So that leads him to the conclusion that the ship had, somehow, jumped seven and a half hours into the future. This was further supported by the current being different from when he had last checked it. It didn't match the predicted current for 01.30, but it did for 09.00.

Didn’t explain the anchorage being deserted though.

Nor him turning into some bizarre kind of quadruped creature.

From where he was looking at his notes, Vadim’s gaze strayed ever so slightly to the side and met the control console for the interphone. The item that was generally used to contact the Captain or the engine room whenever necessary.

The current situationcertainly called for it.

But how would he react to his third officer having a beak and feathers? Vadim spent a good five minutes weighing in the pros and the cons. On one side the Captain deserved to know about the incident and Vadim couldn’t possibly be blamed for it, but on the other hand he was uncertain on how to explain to an experienced mariner that his ship had managed the feat of travelling through time.

Vadim’s hand (or claw as probably should start calling it) hovered over the handset for a few seconds, was he really ready to take the leap?

He grabbed the phone.

Author's Note

The Amandine is based on a real ship that was built relatively recently, so of course it would be equipped with the most modern equipment available on the market. This gives the crew exceptionnal situational awareness, and its capacity for telecommunications will come in handy later on.

Chapter 2: Captain on Deck

Vadim breathed out slowly, phone in hand. He would need to remain calm to explain the situation, a thing which was becoming increasingly harder the more he pushed his current form to the side.

With a touch of his claw, the quick call button for the captain’s quarters was pressed and he heard the phone begin beeping. He pressed the handset against his head, a bit more forcefully than needed. He noticed in passing how the sides of his head, too, were covered in a thick layer of down.

The phone rang, and Vadim waited. Time seemed to slow down as the officer waited for the ship’s master to answer. Finally, after a good thirty seconds, someone picked up on the other end of the line. He spoke up.

“Hello captain, this is the officer of the watch on the bridge. It’s nine o’clock in the morning, we are at anchor and there is no traffic. We have a situation.”

Vadim waited a couple dozen seconds, patiently awaiting an answer from the captain. The elderly Indian captain was usually much more diligent in answering any call from the bridge regardless of the hour, but all he could hear on the horn was some ragged breathing.

Before he could contemplate dropping the call, the captain finally spoke up with his telltale Indian accent.

“This is the captain. Can you repeat what is the problem?” The voice came slowly but the captain oddly didn’t sound tired. It sounded like he was cautious, maybe a bit alarmed.

“Sir, we are still at anchor, but there was some meteorological anomaly. Instruments are giving strange readings and...” Vadim hesitated. “There is more sir, something happened, I don’t think I can explain on the phone, can you come up to the bridge?”

There were a few more seconds before the line lit up with the captain’s voice.

“Vadim, I must know, are you, you?

“Sir, can you elaborate the question?” Even if he had an inkling of where the conversation was going.

“What I mean is, did something... abnormal happen to you?” There was a cautious edge in the tone of his voice.

Vadim hesitated again, should he come clear now? How much should he let on now on the phone? After another brief moment, he mustered another burst of his quickly diminishing reserve of courage.

“Yes sir.” He answered curtly.

“I am coming.” The captain answered, immediately getting off the phone.

Vadim dropped the phone. Now, he had seconds before being confronted in his bizarre status. What should he do? What would the captain think when he saw him like that?

Because, honestly, how do you explain to your boss that you just dropped dead an instant and the next you were some furry, feathery kind of beast? That’s not the kind of situation they train you for in simulators, at least not those in maritime academies.

The transformed Ukrainian elected to just stay seated for now and browsed the surroundings of the vessel on the chart, taking a particular interest in the nearby ports, particularly Zeebrugge, which was in the range of their transponder system. Even there, there wasn’t a single ship emitting inside the port, not even in the marina.

After a couple minutes, much longer than usual for the captain to get to the bridge, Vadim heard someone walking up the stairs that lead to the bridge. He didn’t dare turn around.

He heard someone work the mechanism of the heavy duty door a couple of meters behind him. Vadim gripped the edges of the console with both his claws. He could hear his heart beating at a rapid pace. His throat felt constricted.

The door opened and closed, but he still couldn’t get himself to even look back towards it. This was now or never, either the captain accepted the situation and all was fine or... he would see him like some savage animal and have him thrown overboard... or worse, his mind raced.

“Officer Zinovyia, situation report.” The captain’s voice rang out, though lacking its usual firmness and confidence.

Vadim finally got himself to turn around. And he gaped at the sight that awaited him. Right next to the door, was a large bipedal dog, standing with its arms crossed and wearing a pair of cargo shorts and a white shirt (visibly outstretched by the creatures’ bulk) which left little doubt as to whom it actually belonged considering the ranks of captain were displayed for all to see on its shoulders.

The “dog” was a bit shorter than a normal human would be, but that lack of size was widely compensated by its bulk that would make all save the most muscular humans look like wimps. It had short bronze coloured fur, with a lighter tan tone in certain areas like the neck and inner limbs. A visible lump in the back of its pants indicated that it did have a tail. Facially, it had a short muzzle than jutted out slightly in front of its face. On the sides of the muzzle were some shaggy bits of fur that looked like a moustache. The rest of its face looked like a mix of human and canine features, with the eyes being definitely human. Two large mobiles ears poked out of the top of its head, each with a tuft of fur at its base.

The creature was bare-footed, standing on the ball of its feet. The legs were noticeably shorter than a human, but its bulky arms on the other hand, were longer. Vadim spotted a golden watch wrapped around its left wrist, which he recognised as the captain’s (who had once boasted about its acquisition after a long stay in port in the Netherlands). At last, he finished inspecting the unknown but no quite unidentified being by taking note that its fingers, a bit shorter than those of a human, bore some stubby claws at their tips.

“Captain?” Vadim asked with a tremor of doubt in his voice.

The dog gave him a firm nod and walked up silently to the central console next to Vadim. He then sat down in the captain’s chair on Vadim’s side, still in complete silence.

“You know, if it weren’t for the jacket I wouldn’t have recognised you Vadim.” The captain spoke up quietly.

“You seem oddly calm about it sir. I would have thought you’d be more alarmed to wake up like this, which if I may say I didn’t expect.”

“I could give you the same remark.”

“Just stuffing it away for later sir, can’t afford to have a panic attack on the bridge like you always say.”

“And you will get your chance to fall apart once your watch is done. But I gather that you called me because of you... feather issue, correct?”

Vadim leaned back in his seat and turned his head away the captain and towards the chart screen. No other significant change had occurred since he had last checked it.

“Actually captain, that is not exactly why I called. Both issues are probably linked, but I can’t see how yet.” He waved a claw around, indicating the well lit windows of the bridge. “Do you notice anything out of place sir?”

The captain raised an eyebrow at that, an odd sight on the doglike face. He stared out to the horizon and suddenly appeared confused.

“It’s in the morning like you said on the phone. Nine o’clock as you said. Normally it should be Micha’s watch now unless you switched with him. Hold on a second.” The captain gaze a more attentive glance around. “Why isn’t there any ship around?”

“That’s the trouble sir; I didn’t switch watch with Micha. In fact, I still have two hours to go before the end of my watch.” Vadim pointed to the bridge clock behind the helm. “In fact, according to the ship’s time, it’s now two in the morning. But...” At that, he pointed a claw at the chart screen. “The GPS time check says that it’s actually past nine o’clock and the current pushing the ship right now corroborates that fact.”

The captain frowned, and stared cautiously at Vadim now.

“What is it you’re getting at now?”

“Well, the bridge recorder should support what I’m saying, but at about 01.25 today, there was some kind of magnetic storm, an anomaly of some kind, never seen anything like that before.” He gestured vaguely towards the radio console. “The antennas started to pick up some static on all waves. Started with the VHF, and ended with the lower frequencies. Weird thing is, the filter didn’t block it out. I went to check the antennas, which were fine by the way, and there was about 20 seconds give or take before the sky started to flash pink a couple times. There was an electric crackle too, sounded like someone was doing some arc-welding on the monkey bridge, but louder even.”

“And what happened after?”

“I blacked out sir. Woke up to the sound of the bridge alarm, it was about three minutes later. No trace of the anomaly, but no traces of any ship around us either, not even a single sailboat. And of course I had a beak too.” He punctuated the sentence by flicking the tip of his beak with his beak. Bad idea, he cringed, the sensation felt like tapping cutlery against your teeth.

The master gave him an odd look at the gesture but caught himself with a shake of his head. He asked Vadim if they had received any of the automated messages or if he had detected any radio chatter, both of which were a sound negative.

“For all I know sir, all conclusions seems to lead to the fact that we... well we moved ahead in time. That about the only thing I could draw a conclusion on, not that I would any idea about the “how”, or about the fact that moving ahead in time makes ships disappear and their crew turn into animals.” He halted himself. “Even drunk off my mind on the strongest kind of booze I couldn’t come up with that sort of bullshit.” He muttered.

“And I agree that if I weren’t a talking dog now right now, I’d have you pissing in a cup. Unfortunately, I can’t really say time travelling is the least believable thing at the moment. That and you’ve got the fact that Alejandro didn’t come to take your watch to back you up.”

“Hold on a second. I bring you all my arguments to support my point, and you choose to believe me not because of those, but because Alejandro wouldn’t miss his watch?” Vadim asked incredulously.

“Exactly.” The captain simply answered.

“Well, I did see him crawl his way to the bridge with 40 degrees of temperature once so I can’t exactly say you’re wrong but still, talk about trust sir, sheesh.” Vadim complained.

His only answer to that was a chuckle from the captain.

“Just pulling your leg there and quit calling me sir, that’s for the navy guys, we’re not military. Just call me by my name.”

“Dilip, then?” The captain nodded. “Alright, I just prefer sticking to procedure in situations like that if you understand. But now that it’s settled, what do we do?”

“First off, I’m gonna assume that everyone on board suffered the same fate as us. Seems like the most logical assumption, if there is any logic to this to begin with. Grab the mike for the PA system; I want to make an announcement. Wake everyone up and gather them behind the bridge so we can make a list of who’s what.”

Vadim pulled out said mike from a drawer under his seat and passed it to the captain, who plugged it in a socket on his station.

“Thinking of it now, before I make the announcement, I want you to stay on the bridge. You can listen in to what goes on from here, but we’re still at sea so you keep on with the anchor watch, got it?”

“Understood. Do you want a name list?”

“Yes please, and add a blank column so that I can write down what each person has turned into.”

“Here’s hoping that everyone has turned into something practical.” Vadim added, beginning to unstrap himself from his seat.

“What do you mean Vadim?”

“What I mean is you’re lucky you can walk. I tried getting up after the event, and it feels like I’m a quadruped now. Who knows how bad it can get, I just hope nobody winds up turned into something too inconvenient.” At the end of his sentence, he let himself fall off the side of his seat. He inelegantly stood up on shaky limbs. “I can stand if I find something to lean on, probably could do it without if I can get some training. Moving however? I tried out my legs and walking on two legs is outright impossible.” Then, he went to another side of the bridge where there was a computer and a printer in a corner next to the paper chart table. His pace was, of course, excruciatingly slow. “Now, just let me pull up the right excel sheet and you will have your list in a minute.”

Dilip looked at him quizzically; Vadim’s gait looked more like it belonged to a wounded horse than to his third officer.

“You sure you will be alright there? ‘cause you don’t look like you are.”

Vadim waved a claw dismissively, and then hoisted himself up with both claws to the computer station.

“Like I said earlier, I will just bottle it up for now, do my work, and finish my watch.” He gave the elder seafarer a pointed look. “Afterwards however, I feel like I may need a couple hours in my cabin and a bottle of vodka. Emotional breakdowns, those I only do in a dark corner on my own if you don’t mind.”

“As long as you’re sober by your next watch I won’t mind. I might need the same thing actually... not with vodka though.”

“Aye aye cap’ain.” Vadim booted up the computer. “Just a reminder, crew list, that’s in damage control procedure folder?”

“That’s the old one, take the one from the abandon ship folder instead, Alejandro updated it last week.” Dilip paused. “Avoid using that of the company, too cluttered, can’t do anything with it.”

“Will do, thanks.” Vadim said as he set to work.

On his side of the bridge, Dilip was trying to come up with what to tell on the PA. He tried to pinch his nose in frustration but instead gave himself a scratch on the upper side of his newly acquired muzzle.

Might as well go for it and make it up as he goes he told himself. Regardless of what he said someone would panic anyway. He pushed the button on the mike.

“Attention, attention, attention, all crewmembers.” He paused for three seconds. “This is captain Prateek, repeat, this is captain Prateek, be advised: the ship suffered from an unknown phenomenon. All crewmembers must report to the muster station on deck A, behind the bridge. The ship is not in danger; do not bring fire fighting equipment or life saving appliances.” Dilip stopped briefly to figure out how to continue. “Do not be alarmed if you are experiencing any... unprecedented change. Make your way to muster station 1 on deck A, do not panic, the situation will be... explained once the crew is assembled. Out.”

Dilip leaned back in his seat, feeling the touch of fur against his seat’s soft leather. Then he heard a small laugh behind it. He turned around.

“What?”

Vadim shook his head with a small smile on his beak (which made Dilip wonder how he could even do that, wasn’t a beak supposed to be hard? How could he even bend it to show facial expression was beyond him).

“It’s just... ‘do not be alarmed of any unprecedented change?’ For a moment it sounded like you were talking to pre-teens about puberty. I’m sorry, just trying to make light of a bad situation, not dissing your ability to give speeches.”

“You really are running short on nerves aren’t you? Don’t worry, no offense taken, but please work on that sense of humour.”

“Wilco to that.” Vadim fiddled a bit with the mouse on his computer. “Printing your list right now by the way.”

Suddenly, they both head an incredibly loud scream, followed by a disturbingly long succession of expletives in Russian.

“Someone’s angry...” Dilip commented.

“Meh, if I’m right and it’s Artyom, then that’s not even close to his best.” Vadim added. “You should have heard him scream at random machinery back on the Undine. Eh, this time he sounds genuinely pissed at least.”

“I’m starting to regret waking everyone at once...” The Indian muttered.

“Could be worse. I regret waking up to that shitfest at all. Still, better get ready captain, you’ve got an audience coming.”

“Watch the sarcasm boy, that was out of line.” The captain glared at his officer, who had the presence of mind to straighten up.

“Excuses sir, won’t happen again.”

“Yeah, it’d better not.” Dilip said, standing up and walking in the direction of the door that led outside to the back of the bridge, grabbing his list from the printer’s tray in passing. “While you’re keeping watch and I’m busy, try downloading the feed from the security cameras, I want to take a look at it later on. Priority to the outer cameras, got it?”

“Understood sir, good luck.”

Chapter 3: Who's What.

Dilip slowly walked through the backdoor of the bridge, getting a fresh breath of sea air in passing. The drizzle that had plagued the skies for the past two days had finally stopped, but the air was still heavy in humidity and pressure, indicating that more rain awaited them sooner or later. The deck’s dark anti-slip flooring was littered with small puddles glistening in the light of the morning sun. A reassuring rumble could be felt coming from the generators, a sign that the ship was still very much alive despite being at anchor.

A small breeze from the North-East rustled Dilip’s fur but he didn’t feel cold, his newly acquired fur making a good job of protecting him from the elements. Far off in the distance, he could see the offshore wind farms, barely visible due to a thin bank of mist above the surface. He walked over to the edge of the deck, where there was an orange post with a sign saying “muster station” and a tube in which they stored the fire plan. He leaned over and rested his weight on the barrier, overlooking all lower decks behind the castle from where he was. He would be able to spot the crewmembers as they came from this position.

With a wince he began to massage his foot with a hand. Walking barefooted was a bad idea on a ship and coming from him it set a bad precedent as the captain, but he couldn’t fit any of his shoes over the now deformed appendages, they were too different from a human’s feet. Sure they seemed sort of tough, but that wouldn’t be sufficient in an industrial environment where there were many things that could crush or slice them; hence why he would have to spare some time later to jury-rig a pair of safety shoes, that and enlarge the collar on his shirts too among other things. He suddenly got an idea and turned around in the direction of the bridge.

“Vadim, if you find the time and you’ve got a satellite connection, try to compile a list of sewing shops along the coast, with locations and directions from the closest sea port. We might, pardon, we will need those later on, got it?”

He heard a muted “Roger captain” coming from inside the wheel house. That was enough for him and he turned around again. Bringing out the crew list from his pocket, he quickly perused the thing. 25 crewmen and 16 different nationalities on board. Everyone had a good knowledge of English but still, Dilip wondered what HR had been thinking when they gave out assignments at the company office. Probably some twat got some ideas about diversity in his head, he mused.

With a pen, he wrote down two entries in the column Vadim had added, “Species”. Next to his name, he wrote “bipedal dog” and next to Vadim’s, he wrote “quadruped bird man”. Not the most imaginative name, but now was not the time for penmanship.

As he finished writing that, he heard a door open two decks below him, on the side of the officer’s berthing. He peered down curiously but reeled back when out of the door came a giant parrot.

The creature had a humanoid stance, not unlike his own new form, but the similarities stopped there. It stood slightly shorter than a human if you didn’t count the large crest of feather on the top of its head. It looked a bit burly and had a tail of feathers extending half its height behind him. Its beak was quite large, in the typical shape of those found on macaw species but its eyes were facing forward instead of on the sides of its head (they were distinctly human, much like his own). On the sides of its head were two large ears covered in down, unlike what you’d expect on a bird.

Also uncharacteristic of birds were that it had arms instead of wings. Both handing in claw-like hands similar to those Vadim found himself saddled with, and also identical in shape to its feet, which were bare for this particular individual. It had a deep blue plumage with hints of yellow around its eyes and beak. The scales on its hands and feet were a dark shade of grey, reaching up to its elbows and knees respectively.

The creature was wearing the standard orange high-vis coveralls the company provided the crew, with its sleeves rolled up. It was also wearing a pair of aviator glasses, which were resting on its forehead. More interesting for Vadim were the epaulettes on the coveralls, indicating that the being was in fact Chief Officer Mendoza, or Alejandro as the other officers called him.

The aforementioned person looked up and spotted his superior peering down at him. Looking up as he did made him more aware of the sun’s current status. He looked around him this way and that for a moment, and then stared again at the captain for a few seconds, this time with a very bewildered look upon his features.

Dilip didn’t bother addressing him just yet, not particularly willing to hold a discussion with someone two decks below him. He took out his list and wrote down ‘Giant parrot’ next to Alejandro’s name.

Said Spaniard conveniently reached the top of the stairs as he was pocketing his list. Dilip elected to speak up before the parrot (who was currently levelling a fierce glare at him for no apparent reason) could bombard him in question.

“Alejandro I presume?” The bird guy just nodded and Dilip continued. “Brief explanation before the rest of the crew arrives. One, we apparently travelled through time, so you didn’t miss your watch, it’s 01.30 ship time, 09.00 in local time, Vadim’s keeping watch right now. Two, yes, there is the transformation thing, couldn’t figure out the reason yet but looks like everyone is affected, Vadim has become some kind of quadruped bird and I’m a dog. I’m making a list right now to see who is what. Three, for some reason, we’re alone on the sea. All ships around us disappeared for some reason and we can’t get in contact with the shore either. Any question?” He finished, resting his back against the railing, arms crossed in front of him.

The parrot scratched the side of his head with a claw, they weren’t as sharp looking as Vadim’s Dilip noted.

“Actually I was gonna ask if you were indeed the captain but the accent is enough of an answer. Am I the first one here?”

“That you are, no disbelief about the time travel thing, really?”

“Disbelief flew out the window the moment I saw a parrot looking back at me in the mirror. Didn’t see anyone when I was coming here, but from what I heard coming from the cabins, we’re in for some trouble. Unprecedented changes, really? Talk about the understatement of the year captain.”

“Don’t you start with that. You go and try to improvise a reassuring speech when you just discovered that your entire ship is affected by some unknown supernatural phenomenon, your third mate is a bird and you a dog.”

“Fair point” Alejandro just shrugged in acceptance “At least it happened at night when no one was working. Wouldn’t want to know what would have happened if we suddenly transformed like that whilst doing work, might have been nasty.”

“Vadim was conscious, said the thing made him black out for a while. I will have a look at what the camera feed shows for when it happened, and the radio log too; Vadim also mentioned he heard some static on the radio before it happened.”

“I can probably look into that later on when I get the time. If the radio picked it up it’s probably saved somewhere on the server, did he say on which wavelength it happened?”

“All of them, though you will have to ask him yourself about the order ‘cause they didn’t ring all at once.”

“Copy that. Did we have an order from the company yet?”

“Nah, it was just ‘standby at anchorage ‘til we get an order’. The supply chain on new cars was running short because of a strike in the railway industry, and trucks usually prefer to pass to England by ferry this time of the year. Why the question anyway? It’s not like we’re in any shape to weigh anchor right now.”

“Just hoping we’d have some shore contact, even if it’s outdated. That would give us a direction to follow from here.”

Dilip made a stop sign with his hand at that.

“Hold your horses there Alejandro, we don’t even know the state of the crew and in my case my clothes barely fit me, meaning most of the PPE is a lousy fit. Heck, I doubt you could fit those feet in any kind of safety shoes.” He said, waving a hand towards Alejandro’s feet in emphasis. “In those conditions I’m not willing to let anyone even attempt to get the ship running just yet.”

“So what’s the plan?”

“For now, let’s stick to figuring out who’s what, fix our PPE so we can work without crippling ourselves and maybe save some time to get used to the transformation. I don’t know about you but my balance is all fucked up and I’m still fumbling with the new shape of those fingers.”

“Fine, to be honest that tail of mine does feel very strange and I could use some slight adjustments with the coveralls. Among other things...” He mumbled towards the end, not willing to go over the fact he had fallen over four times trying to figure out how his prehensile feet-claws worked.

They fell in silence after that, each busy with their own train of thought about the situation. Alejandro went to lean against the funnel to profit from the warmth of the exhaust (which was not as intense as usual due to the ship only running on the electric generators at the moment), probably not the healthiest of choices but he found it more comfortable than being exposed to the elements.

A couple minutes later, they heard a commotion below them and turned around to the sight of the first crewmembers emerging from the accommodation. The door opened anew and out stumbled a bleary eyed parrot dressed in coveralls like Alejandro (though that one appeared to be a cockatoo instead of a macaw). It was followed by a large lizard, an anthropomorphic cat and another dog-like creature similar to Dilip. All were dressed like Alejandro: poorly fitted coveralls and no shoes.

“May I have your attention please?” Dilip intoned. All creatures below them turned their eyes upwards at the sentence. “Good, I’m the captain if you hadn’t noticed. As you can see, we are all victims of an as of yet unknown phenomenon which changed our bodies like you are currently experiencing. No, I don’t have a cure to that; we will have to make do with it for now. At the moment I want to take presences and write down what everyone has become so that we can begin to sort this out in an orderly fashion.” He paused to catch his breath. “Please, come up to me and tell me your name so that I can add you on the list. Copy that?”

With a few murmurs of agreement, the new group made their way up the stairs to their captain.

The first one to reach Dilip was the parrot guy he had identified as a cockatoo. He had spotless white feathers with hints of sulphur yellow at the tips of his tail and a bright yellow crest on the top of his head, which was currently folded. His beak and scales were a matte black. Upon closer inspection, Dilip also spotted countless oil stains on his coveralls, an engine room guy thus, those feathers weren’t going to stay white for long.

The bird man came to a halt two meters in front of him and stood at attention.

“Carlos Alvarez, reporting for duty, sir.” He said, loudly.

Dilip dutifully added a mention next to the name in his list. As an afterthought, he also added a mention of colour next to the species, to avoid confusion.

“At ease Alvarez, we’re not navy no need to stand at attention. How were things downstairs? Not too much chaos?”

“People seem to be doing their best to stay calm captain, but it’s going to be slower for some to get there. I saw a couple guys trying to walk on four legs and heard that some didn’t even have hands.”

“No hands you say?” Dilip raised an eyebrow saying that. This will make getting the ship to port a lot more difficult.

“Yes sir, thankfully I heard Angelo and Ajit were helping them. Didn’t linger myself, the situation is pretty much taken care of and they should be there in a minute.”

“Thank you Alvarez, you may dispose for now. I will give a detailed explanation when everyone gets here.”

Carlos nodded and departed. Immediately, his place was taken by the anthropomorphic cat.

“Nguyen Van Duc, catering department.”

The captain appraised the being with a glance, he was taller than him by a head, but certainly didn’t have the bulk the transformation had given him, being very lean instead, so much so that it would have appeared abnormal were the creature human. His arms were longer than those of a human by a hand’s length and he had a fluffy tail swishing behind him. He bore two large ears upon his head and his eyes were an odd mix between a feline’s and a human’s, with the colour and white being distinctly human while the slitted pupil was definitely feline. His fur, from what Dilip could see, was a greyish brown with white stripes running along his backside.

“Noted for Van Duc, anything to add?” The dog said, adding ‘bipedal cat, brown’ next to the guy’s name.

“Nothing except for the fact we will have to delay kitchen operations due to the change. Might want to figure out if our diet changed too.”

“You believe it has?” The captain asked.

“I presume it has sir.” The cat barred his teeth “See? Mostly canines, no incisive. I’m assuming I’ve become a full carnivore, don’t know ‘bout you. Still gonna try vegetables and starchy food tho’.”

“You do that, the more we know the better. As long as the chief cook approves of course.”

“Roger captain.” And with that finish, he walked off, leaving Dilip face to face with a giant lizard. The reptile was at his shoulder’s height, but reached up to his jaw if you counted the line of backwards swept white spikes on his head. His head, unlike his own head or Nguyen’s, didn’t bear a resemblance to a human’s, instead bearing a much more pronounced muzzle and having the eyes very close to the top of his head. Said eyes were a ruby red with slitted pupils and had a ridgeline of thicker scales hanging over them as a stand-in for eyebrows. Running down the underside of his jaw line and continuing under his coveralls was a length of sky blue leathery skin, the only part that was not covered by the dark cyan scales. The master also noted that, beside two notable bulges on the back of his coveralls and a tail terminated by a translucent fin, the lizard’s torso was very narrow and had the ribs meet at an angle in the middle of it. As for the rest, the limbs were of similar proportions to his own; the lizard was standing on the ball of his feet, and only had four fingers per hand (except those were each ending in a wickedly sharp claw).

“I’m starting to wonder if the Forces that Be have a thing for humanoid animals...” The captain commented “Anyway, who shall receive the honour of being the first labelled as a giant gecko?”

That earned him a glare from the lizard who muttered something in Russian.

“A good morning to you too Artyom.” Dilip said sarcastically “I hope you find the scales comfortable ‘cause you’re gonna be stuck that way for the foreseeable future.”

The Russian’s only answer was to walk off to the opposite side of the deck, muttering angrily as he walked.

“He sounds hung-over” Alejandro commented, coming up behind him.

“He probably is. The bar was open yesterday and it’s technically the middle of the night for us after all. I may not like him but he’s not really in the wrong so I won’t go and pester him for nothing. Talk to him if you want, I know you both get along better than he and I, and I got better things to do right now.”

The Spaniard just shrugged and followed after the Russian, asking him if he felt like sharing a cigarette. More people had come streaming out of the accommodation in the meantime, Dilip observed. There were two more parrots guiding two creatures bearing a high resemblance to Vadim who were having difficulties moving on four legs. Two more quadruped creatures flowed suit after them, one being a living replica of the sphinx he had seen a decade ago when he had visited Egypt, the other being another birdlike creature, except that it had a brightly coloured mane, a bushy tail and its rear legs ended with hooves instead of paws like the other avian creatures beside it. It also had an odd colour, being covered in seafoam feathers, with a yellow beak and claws, and its mane, tail and hooves were pale grey.

For some reason, his gaze kept being drawn towards the parrots; there was something different about them. He filed that for later and turned around to catch the name of the last guy from the first group, a lanky black dog with short fur and light brown eyes, slightly smaller than him but with a longer tail and muzzle.

“Name please?”

“Rahul Goswami, chief cook.” Came the answer.

“Ah Rahul, good to see you. Sorry for the rough awakening, hope you’re coping. Did you hear what Nguyen said?”

“Yeah, and I agree with him. Guy can be start when he wants to; hopefully we don’t start getting along like cats and dogs down in the kitchen, eh?” He joked, earning a soft chuckle from the captain.

“Let’s hope not, and I hope I can still eat your cuisine, wouldn’t want to miss that curry. Now why don’t you go and begin planning this changed diet thing with Van Duc while I sort through the rest of the crew?”

“Aye Cap’ain, will do.” The smaller dog walked off in the direction of his feline colleague.

That was one group accounted for, 18 more people to go through now. But now they were coming at a faster pace, everyone starting to make their way to him all at once. With a sharp cry for order, Dilip had them all in a file at the bottom of the stairs and then he began his work.

The oddness about the parrot was explained shortly after that: they presented themselves as the cadet and one of the welders respectively, but it was very easy to notice upon a closer look that the poor saps had won a free sex change in addition to the transformation, the voice was a dead giveaway, and even if it appeared that the females of this species were taller than males (when compared to Alejandro) the lean and curvaceous appearance left little doubt about the question. The cadet, now a brightly coloured scarlet macaw, was quite clearly very distraught when he heard the captain comment about that, apparently having failed to notice the quirk in his change. With little time to spare, Dilip moved on.

The sphinx, who was sticking with the welder who helped him deal with his lack of hands, was apparently a Greek guy from the engine department. The master found his appearance quite pleasant to the eye, albeit being surprised by his large size from up close. The engineering guy had a face with large feline yellow eyes that mixed both leonine and human features. He had a mane that bore the colour of red wine, from which were poking out two large fluffy ears on the top of his head. His body was radiating hidden power from beneath the sand coloured fur. Under the coveralls, Dilip spotted two large bulges on his back, and there was a tail trailing behind him, ending in a tuft of wine coloured fur. Dilip tasked the welder (who was more composed than the cadet) with helping out his handless colleague and then he was immediately onto the next guy, quadruped bird man with hooves.

The aforementioned guy, called Yuri, was the other welder. Now that he could get a better look, the captain had to correct himself about the tail and mane: those were actually feathers, very large and supple, but still feathers. The welder also reminded him that there was a name for bird/horse creatures: hippogriffs, which the captain found a lot more professional to write on his list than avian/equine pastel monstrosity. Apart from that, he took note that contrarily to Vadim and the other bird guy behind him (which, as he would learn later on, were called griffons, he really had to brush up his mythology), his avian features were those of a seabird (some kind of petrel in this case) instead of those of a raptor.

Afterwards, the next people flew by without him really getting to put a face on the transformed creatures. One of the engineering officers had become a minotaur and two guys had become gargoyles, but there was no other novelty in the type of transformation. Much to his chagrin, Dilip discovered that more crewmembers had suffered from a sex change, including the chief engineer (a dragon, as he corrected his list, not a giant gecko) and the chief steward (now a sphinx lioness). His second officer, now a female griffon (griffoness? Griffess? Whatever) had walked off into the wheelhouse to have a talk with Vadim, both being known as close friends to the rest of the crew.

With a shudder, Dilip realised some crewmates might actually try and get to dip their sausages; they were desperate like that sometimes. He didn’t dare to think of the implications this new variable might have on morale. Back to the topic though for now, the crew was now assembled for some well deserved explanations, all looking at him in expectance. He pocketed the list and straightened up.

“Alright folks, I don’t think I need to call for your attention so I’ll skip straight to the heart of the problem.” He walked through the crowd as he was speaking, making his way to the mast’s ladder. He climbed a few rungs so as to be in sight of everyone and continued his speech, explaining what details they had gathered about the situation with Vadim, mostly going over the time travel part and the disappearance of all maritime activity in the vicinity of their ship. Much to his regret, he had to admit to not having a clue as for the reasons behind their transformation, save for the anomaly experienced by Vadim, who was still busy pulling out the feeds from the data banks.

Dilip asked if anyone beside the third mate had been awake at the time of the event, but as suspected everyone else was sound asleep at that hour, not having any reason to stay up and wanting to catch up on lost sleep.

“Now that I’ve brought you all up to speed, I’m going to give you my orders for the time being. We are not currently in any shape to be leaving anchor, some of us are barely managing to stand up as is.” He gave a pointed glance towards another dog who was threatening to fall over any moment from now. “Hence, I want everybody to start working on getting familiar with his new... proportions. In particular for the quadrupeds, it’s hard, but we have to push on. For the sphinxes, try to figure out any way you can possibly lend assistance without hands, even if it’s not in your department. I noticed some of you now have wings, but now is not the time to learn how to fly. We can’t afford to have an accident. Step two; I know everyone has some degree of proficiency when it comes to sewing and improvised craftsmanship so I want you all to patch up and adapt your gear to your new form. I’m willing to give some leniency when it comes to protective glasses, but come tomorrow I want everyone to have fixed his situation when it comes to coveralls, safety shoes and work gloves, got it?”

The crowd around him voiced their agreement and Dilip waited a few seconds before continuing, assembling the next part of his speech in his mind.

“And before any of you ask, I don’t want to see any tail uncovered when in coveralls; they’re here for protection, so tuck it in or add a sleeve on your ass if you’re feeling creative. Chief Steward Farkas has access to a small amount of spare sewing supplies and fabric, might not be enough but try to make do for now, we’ll try to get more when we reach our next port.”

There were a few inquiries about the next port of call, but the captain ignored them, preferring to continue his speech and answer questions later.

“I will wait for the Chief Steward to come report to me that everyone is ready before we can continue and resume navigation. Now for my orders per department, I want the cooks and officers to stay here. For the rest, dismissed. Farkas, you show them the supply closet.”

Dilip also spotted the cadet beginning to leave, and intervened.

“Cadet De Vries, stay here with us I will have a task for you too. You have all your credentials for officer of the watch right?”

He just got a nod from the cadet as an answer. The newly-made girl was still in shock from her ‘discovery’. Dilip turned away from her to address both cooks.

“Goswami, Van Duc, I want you both to figure out a menu that can fit everyone’s new diet, if it has changed that is. We will change the ship’s clock to match actual local time, so consider it’s nine in the morning. The usual twelve o’clock meal can be delayed, but I want it no later than half past two. That’s all for you two, dismissed.”

The cat and the dog departed without a word, but Dilip had to add a last remark before they left.

“Oh, before I forget. Mind the hair in the food. I won’t make a fuss about it for now but try to find a counter to that and if you need help or gear, don’t hesitate to ask Farkas.”

He turned towards his engineering officers now, a female dragon (his Chief Engineer), a minotaur (the second) and a female hippogriff (the third). The event really had messed up with their previously all-male crew.

“For engineering, priority number one is keeping the generators online. If the electricity goes down we’re toast. If you can, leave someone on watch down in engineering, rating or officer, I don’t care as long as someone’s down there. I also want you to keep the main engine ready. Shut down, but I want it ready to get going under fifteen minutes, copy?”

“Aye cap’ain!” All three said at once, earning a nod of approval from Dilip.

“Good, dismissed.”

Dilip turned away from the engineers and walked away towards the bridge, indicating to Alejandro and De Vries to follow after him with a wave of his hand. Inside, he saw as he strode in, Vadim and Micha were hunched over a laptop hooked to one of the entry points for the ship’s network. Both were next to the helm, at the navigator’s post so they could monitor the electronic chart as they worked. Micha, the captain observed, had turned into a griffon with a bald eagle front and a wildcat rear end. The oddity (in addition to being turned into a female, a fate he was glad not to be a victim of) was that the griffon had some lime coloured highlights around the eyes and a spot of lime feathers on the back of the head in the shape of a diamond.

“How far did you get with the feeds?”

“Got the complete video feed downloaded. That one I already sent to your computer via the internal network so easy enough.” None of them turned away from the screen as Vadim answered.” Problem is the video feed isn’t matched with the proper audio, it’s an old program. We’re sorting through it as we speak but it’s a bit confusing. Give me fifteen minutes and you will have the files on your workstation.” Now they turned around to face the captain. Micha spoke up then, a sliver of hesitation in his voice due to being unfamiliar with how he (or should he use she?) sounded.

“The radio log however, that one’s gonna be a bitch to pull retrieve. For one the program is fucking old, and for second it’s on an outdated OS coded with the arse.”

“Meaning?” Dilip asked, leaning his head to the side.

“It’s gonna take a while sir. If we want to be able to use the radio log, I’m going to have to code a conversion algorithm, create a backup of the log and run it through the program until it works correctly. Might take hours, might take weeks, I can’t really tell. Good thing is, once we have the algorithm that kind of problem won’t pop up in the future.”

Dilip nodded. “Okay, I want you both to put it on the backlog for now. Try to work on it when you have some free time and nothing better to do but it’s not top priority for now.”

He went and seated himself in the captain’s chair, turning it around on its swivel to face the deck officers.

“The orders for your department are as follow : you keep doing the anchor watches as usual as prio’ one, and while you’re at it I want you to monitor all telecomm traffic within the realm of feasibility, even if you wind up listening in on what goes on in Japan. Satcom or radio, I want to hear what goes on on the waves, copy? Also, set the telex to receive all stations no matter the language.” Dilip paused to collect his thoughts.

“We’re switching the watch pattern to match local time. Meaning, it’s your turn Alejandro right now, hope you don’t mind. Cadet, you’re with the chief officer. Vadim and Micha, you’re both free, be diligent if possible but I know Vadim is pushing the 30 hours barrier now so I won’t mind if you get some rest. Beside watchkeeping, I want you to plan an entry in the port of Zeebrugge. Should be about 20 nautical miles from here; use the berthing you see fit. Remember however: if we’re not seeing or hearing anything at the moment, this might mean there isn’t any activity in port. No tugs, no stevedores, so assemble a party to send ashore with the rhib to handle lines and choose an easy berthing which we can leave easily. If you can, prefer one where we can use the rear ramp, but it’s fine if it’s only the side ramps. I needn’t tell you we won’t have a pilot for the manoeuvre, but we’ve all been to that port at least a dozen times so it’s pretty much standard procedure. I want the charts and a briefing in my office within the next 48 hours, and I’m being generous so don’t abuse it.”

With that, Dilip stood up from the chair and began making his way to the stairs leading down into the accommodation.

“By the way cadet” He added in passing “I know that voyage was your last as a cadet with us, but if the shore is as deserted as this anchorage, you might be in for a promotion, just sayin’.”

And then he was off.

Chapter 5: Needlework

A couple hours later, Vadim awoke to the sound of his alarm clock. For a moment, he seriously contemplated staying comfortably tucked under his blanket but his brain was unfortunately quick to remind him of the present situation. With distaste, he starred at his claws and how he was curled up in his bed, right when they were finally going to get time to rest this shit had to happen. He sighed and threw off the blanket. Time to get some work done. He got up quickly.

Not a bright idea apparently, given the splitting lance of pain that surged through his skull. Maybe downing half a bottle of vodka and expecting to process it that fast hadn’t been too wise. Or so he would have thought if he didn’t have a bottle of water and a tablet of painkillers within arm’s reach under his bed.

Always prepare the terrain for your next bout of drunken debauchery (or in this case alcohol induced emotion dampening). The difference between a good officer and a bad one mostly boils down to preparation, case in point. Getting some additional extra strong painkillers had been the first thing on his mind at their last port of call in Purfleet.

Now it was high time for him to get some food to help settle his stomach, he was running on fumes. Hopefully the rest of the crew had already had their meal and he would be free to have his dinner in silence, the way he preferred it. Hopefully Rahul hadn’t overdone it with the spices again...

Vadim grabbed a fresh set of coveralls from his wardrobe, not bothering to transfer his items from the last one’s pockets, or to put on anything under it (it was already hard enough to put it on as is due to his goddamned wings). He would have to take it off later on anyway to adapt it to fit his new form better. Shoes were a no-no for now until he managed to snag the tools to adapt it to fit digitigrade feet.

He went to grab his keys on the desk, but stopped when he noticed a folded piece of paper stuck under the door. He picked it up quickly; curious about what it was about. It was a message from Micha, written in polish.

‘Vadim,

Captain announced departure for 25 May 1600WT, demanded to begin work on refitting respiratory gear for the fire suits. Engineers are busy with it (in engine room) but any help is welcome.

Charts ready for entry into port, Alejandro says you gotta do the mooring plan and choose a team to handle the lines ashore. Must be ready before 10 on the 25th. You’re doing the mooring operation on deck with the Chief (I’m on bridge with De Vries and the captain).

Spared some sewing supplies for you in my room. Door’s open, top shelf in the wardrobe by the bed. For the shoes, Boris is doing it for the deck department. Drop yours off for him by the cafeteria before 2000 if you don’t want to walk bare feet.

Nguyen left you a meal in the kitchen. Tried out the new diet, can still eat anything, but apparently now we have a preference for meat. Mind the spices, tongue’s very sensitive to curry. Haven’t tried the rest.

Remember for the watch : yours is now the 4 to 8, AM and PM. You’re with De Vries (who’s expecting her his vodka).

Xx

PS : attached a copy of the list (with species) on the back, thought you might find it useful

Vadim nodded his head, now having a rough idea of how to go about his evening. He took a folder from the filing cabinet, as well as some paper and a pen which he shoved in his breast pocket. He would, try to catch up on his work as he ate. He also remembered to take his shoes. If Boris was intent on helping with that he wasn’t going to stop him, he didn’t have any clue on how to modify his shoes himself.

Walking out of his room, he contemplated how odd it felt to walk bare feet with his new paws. On one hand (or maybe would it be topical to say claw) his front gave him the feeling of walking on his hands without suffering from the soft skin being hurt (the scales on his palms were much rougher than human skin but managed to somehow retain their sensitivity).On the other hand, his rear half was still puzzling him what with walking on his toes, the paw pads dulling the impacts of each step and the retractile claws nestled between his toes (that he hadn’t bothered to figure out how to use. What were they for anyway? Climbing?).

There was no one out in the hallway and Vadim could see that the drizzle outside had resumed. The ventilation was blasting air loudly and if his hearing was right, a second generator had been started down in the engine room. That was a sign the engineers were running the main compressor to clear the main engine and have it ready in short order.

He proceeded to make his way to the centre of the ship where he took the stairs down one deck, on the level on which the cafeteria and the kitchen were situated. It was a much bigger deck than those above and it was there that you would find the ratings’ cabins, those for any possible passenger, and the ship’s gym (albeit a small one). The cafeteria and the kitchen, both adjacent to each other, were placed all the way to the back of the ship. Vadim crossed path with a couple sailors on the way, including a thoroughly pissed off cat who shoved him out of the way as he stormed out of the cafeteria yelling something in Italian. That barely earned him an annoyed glare from the griffon who already had an idea as to what caused the feline to react that way. He pushed the door and went inside without a look back towards the cat who still was yelling in frustration.

“Hi there Rahul, I see you’re still antagonising Roberto. What’s the deal this time?” He said whilst making his way to a table.

The cafeteria cut away from the interior design of the rest of the ship by being decorated with a brighter atmosphere than the dark tones found elsewhere: the walls were painted white with spots of light blue here and there. As for the floor, it was covered in black and white rectangular tiles. An ugly choice, but preferable because of how frequent it was to accidentally spill something on the ground when the ship jerked about. There was a wide window on the stern side of the room giving a very good view of the ship’s trail. Most tables were arranged on that side of the room, but there were some on the opposite side too, where the buffet and access to the kitchen were, meaning there was a fair sized void in the middle of the room. A couple fridges and water dispensers lined the sides of the room. In one place, someone had placed a white screen next to a projector that was safely secured to the roof.

There were only two other persons in the room besides Vadim: a dog who was cleaning the buffet and a griffon who was seated at a table, hunched over a sewing machine. Both were looking at him, the dog with a cocky grin on his face.

“No deal to speak of Officer, just sharing puns with a fellow sailor.” The dog answered.

Vadim addressed the other griffon in the room a look with a raised eyebrow.

“Really now? Puns?”

“Well yeah, what he doesn’t say is he’s been assailing our poor secretary with cat puns non-stop for the past twenty minutes. I can only admire the Italian, ‘cause that was like watching a tennis watch, except you replace the ball with witty remarks.” The griffon, Boris, said.

“Cat puns? That’s not very inventive of you Rahul, shame on you. Regardless, I trust you to know when to stop so he doesn’t lash out right?” Vadim commented offhandedly, handing his shoes to Boris who placed them on top of a not so insignificant pile. The guy was practically swimming in half dismantled shoes and bits of leather.

“Really?” Boris said “He barely gets a slap on the wrist and I get called to the captain’s quarters whenever I have a verbal spar with Artyom?”

“Last I checked bird-brain a verbal spar doesn’t end with someone getting smashed in the face with a bottle of rhum.” Vadim drawled flatly.

“Quick reminder dear officer” Rahul pointed out “I’m seeing two half birds in the room and one of them just happens to be you.”

“Point to the fleabag, I gotta work on my wit. Now if you wouldn’t mind serving me a plate so I can get back to my work?”

The Indian cook threw his hands in the air “Hold on there, no need to get offensive, we’re all adults here.” He said.

“Sometimes I wonder...” Vadim muttered, though that fell on deaf ears because Boris was already back to modifying shoes and Rahul had gone off deeper in the kitchen.

Within minutes, Rahul was back with a tray full of food for him. On it were a plate filled to the brim with curry rice and beef, an apple, some bread and bottle of coke. Vadim accepted it with a curt ‘thank you’ and turned around. Oh right, can’t carry a tray if you’re walking on all fours.

“Say Rahul, you wouldn’t know how to...”

“Trolley next to the water dispenser, you can’t miss it. Please don’t even try to walk with your tray, the other quadrupeds already made a mess of it earlier. You drop it you clean it, I don’t care how important your duties are it’s a cafeteria not a pig pen.” Rahul cut him off.

With that matter settled, Vadim got himself seated after moving his tray with the trolley (and putting it back after some nasty curses were directed at his person courtesy of a certain cook, he preferred Nguyen for a reason). As it turned out, Micha had been understating the reality of his tongue’s sensitivity because even if the curry was pretty mild by Rahul’s standards, the poor griffon still found himself with his beak stuck under a water dispenser after finishing his plate. He couldn’t even accuse the cook of messing with him because the colour of the plate clearly indicated he had used a lot less spices than the usual fare. That being said, the plate had been a fulfilling meal, and hopefully provided him with the right nutrition. Not that anyone said they couldn’t use diet supplements in any case.

“Word of advice Vadim” Boris intoned “I know some will say it’s a dumb idea, but if the cooks are gonna stick to their spices, you might want to smoke a cig or two before dinner.”

“You’re right Boris” Vadim said between two gulps of water “That is a dumb idea” He stuck his head under the dispenser again.

“Beats drinking a litre of water per plate I’d say.” He looked towards the counter; Rahul was off again “Unless you manage to convince Nguyen that is... He would make us a menu, Rahul sure wouldn’t, too prideful.”

“I’ll look into it; consider it a payment for the shoes. Why are you doing that anyway?”

“It was that, or help Roberto file some documents. I’d honestly rather die than do paperwork. The guy’s nuts, we’ve got an apocalypse on our hands and he’s worried about being late with his papers. Also, it’s simpler than it looks once you get the hang of it. I’ve already completed three pairs and I’m just two hours into it. Easy peasy.”

“Whatever floats your boat I guess? You feel like taking part in the mooring tomorrow? I need a few guys to go ashore for line handling.”

“Sure sign me up; just remember I’m not a certified boat pilot.”

“Not a problem, I already got an idea for the pilot. Hope you don’t mind riding shotgun with Danny, do you?”

“The welder? Nah he’s alright. What’s he turned into anyway? Too many things to keep track of you know...”

“Hold on” Vadim looked at his list “Apparently he’s a she-parrot.”

“She-parrot?”

“I mean he’s turned into a female. Tread carefully with that, I can’t help but think all these guys-turned-gals are a ticking time bomb on our hands.”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it. Don’t tease him too much ‘bout the lost dick and it will be alright.” The Russian said, barely paying attention.

“Boris I’m serious, the situation is bad enough that I wouldn’t be surprised if someone snaps and attack his fellow crewmembers. Don’t add fuel to the fire, roger?”

“Roger...” He relented with a soft nod. “Still, can we choose our third guy?”

“Sure, just slip the name under my door.” Vadim said and then returned to his table to work on his mooring plan.

Drawing up the plan was done rather quickly. The berth they had their eyes set on was just a regular quay for roll-on/roll-off vessels, meaning they would be able to use their rear ramp (the biggest) and make sure the ship was solidly held in place. They would even be able to open a side ramp if necessary because the berth was L-shaped. He only placed lines on the side of the vessel and didn’t bother putting any on the stern; experience had shown they only ever were really needed in case of storm or a very exposed berth.

Having to work with three guys less for the mooring would make things slightly difficult but if he put the bosun on the stern and he dealt with the bow they would have a good enough oversight of the situation, though he would have to insist on going slowly. With two or three sailors per winch, Artyom and he wouldn’t have much of a margin if the equipment started being capricious.

He would leave it up to Artyom to figure out who went where for the mooring. The guy had a better appreciation of his subordinates’ seamanship and would know who to trust with a winch.

Before he could put the finishing touches on his plan and add a secondary berth in case theirs was taken, someone –a brown cat- burst through the door.

“Hoy, we need Vadim down in the infirmary stat. Anybody seen him?” He cried out.

“I’m right here.” The aforementioned griffon said, standing up. “What’s the situation?”

The cat turned towards him. He was a bit dishevelled, and was panting loudly. He had a white apron (marking him as the ship’s other cook, Nguyen) above his coveralls and some rubber gloves. Both were stained with blood.

“Farkas is down in the infirmary, got injured falling down some stairs while trying to get to the holds.”

Vadim was instantly walking at a brisk pace towards the exit door, not bothering to pick up any of his papers on the way out. He tossed his set of keys to Nguyen.

“Got it. Go to my room and grab the white folder with a red cross on it, it’s in my filing cabinet next to the desk. Find me another officer if you can, too.”

The Ukrainian swore in his head. He was considered to be the ship’s ‘medical officer’ but that was only due to him receiving a slightly more extensive training than the average officer, not him actually being any good at it. If the circumstances were normal, they would have a contact with the shore to evacuate a wounded or even just receive medical advice. But now... He was on his own, and someone’s life may be on the line (he dearly hoped it wasn’t).

The infirmary was a deck below the cafeteria, on the port side of the vessel. It was placed closer to the actual holds so that it would be easy to access in case of casualty, but that made it so that it was in a more Spartan part of the ship, surrounded by more practical rooms like the ballast control room and the ventilation controls. There, the walls turned to simple white painted steel covered in wiring and piping running along the walls. The floors were covered in a single shade of dark grey anti-slip paint that didn’t feel too pleasant against Vadim’s bare feet.

In itself, the infirmary was very barebones, much more so than it really ought to be because they usually counted on being able to evacuate casualties within hours. It consisted of two gurneys separated by curtains against a side of the room, a recessed area with a bed on the other side of the room, and the last part of the room being occupied by the cabinets, shelves, sink and whatnot that the medical officer would need to provide treatment to patient... Treatment which was, unfortunately, limited by the scope of Vadim’s own abilities as far as medicine was concerned.

There were two people in the room. One was a sphinx laying belly down on a gurney, Farkas, Vadim assumed. He had a blood soaked bandage wrapped around his front left leg, and the other guy in the room, a white parrot with a nametag on his coveralls which read Alvarez, was holding a now red rag against his head.

“Can I get an explanation on what’s going on?” Vadim asked, immediately going for the cabinets on one side of the room, next to which there was a sink which he used to clean his claws (all the more important considering the fact he had to use them for walking).

“Well, we were going to go down the holds to have a walk on the main deck. Just to get used to moving in those bodies you know...” Alvarez said.

“And then he fell down some stairs I head? Is that correct Carlos?”

“Yes it is. We didn’t even get past the first flight of stairs... At least that got us close to the infirmary.”

The sphinx, who for the past minute had just lied there silently, opened his eyes and spoke up.

“I tried to go down the stairs but I couldn’t really see how to. Tried head first, didn’t work out, I slipped and couldn’t catch myself... ‘cause you know, no hands and all.”

“Ah good you’re talking, that’s a plus.” Vadim brightened up. “Word of advice, try to treat stairs like they are ladders, it’s slow but it’s safer. Are you feeling dizzy or nauseous?”

“No” The sphinx squinted in pain. “But I’ve got one nasty motherfucking headache. And how in hell would you already have figured out how to take stairs?”

“That I would expect from falling on your head like that. Just trying to figure out if you’re concussed... As for the stairs, that’s just the way I take them when I’m not feeling steady, the usual two bottles drunk that is.” Vadim said. “Now what was it they said after nausea?” He muttered. “Was it sleepiness?” He turned to Farkas the sphinx “Are you feeling sleepier than usual?”

“Boy everyone on this fucking ship is sleepy, we’ve been working our asses off all month.”

“I will take that as a yes and add irritability, though that might be normal for you.” Vadim quipped, adding a barely audible ‘skurwielu’. “Carlos, can you drop the rag you’re holding and get me a bottle of paracetamol. It’s the white and red one in the top cabinet. And please grab an IV kit with that. Maybe some painkillers will make our dear patient...” He levelled a flat stare at Farkas “A bit more courteous.”

“Eh asshole if you think smashing your head against industrial grade flooring is anything pleasant, then go ahead and try!” Farkas cried out, but went ignored by both crewmen present in the room.

Vadim pulled a lever on the side of the gurney which brought it to his level. Good, now he wouldn’t have to balance on his hind legs to examine his patient. He pulled off a corner of the rag on the sphinx’s forehead. Under the fur and coagulated blood, he could spot a jagged gash that was still bleeding a bit. It was about four centimetres in length. It would need stitches. That at least he could do. He put the rag back in place and instructed Farkas to keep compressing the wound with his right paw.

“Eh Carlos, what about the bandage on his left paw? Did you really get a look at it?”

“Not really” The parrot said from his side of the room where he was sorting through a cabinet “I just put a bandage without looking to stop the bleeding.”

“Okay, well Farkas I’m afraid I will have to take it off to get a look.”

“Just get on with it...”

Thankfully for Farkas, the blood had already coagulated under the bandage thus stopping the bleeding, but Vadim would have to remove the clot once he got a sterile field going: there were hairs in the wound, and just like on his forehead, the gash was long enough to require stitches too. On the bright side, it shouldn’t require any fancy technique to fix considering the edges of the wound were rather clean. He would have to take a look under to see if any nerve had been damaged.

“I guess you’re kinda lucky Farkas, ‘cause I don’t see any bone fragment in the wound. Doubt you’ve got anything broken, though you may want to take that with a pinch of salt, I’m no expert in this thing. Point is, I’d say it’s likely only sprained... Probably.”

“You sure sound confident there Vadim.” Carlos commented wryly.

“You try to remain proficient at that without any practice for months, then come back to me and see if you still got that wit. In either case, grab me a razor, I’m gonna have to shave around the wounds... and an armpit too, to plant his IV.” Vadim said, and then he put the bandage back in place. No need to inspect further without a sterile field and some disinfectant. “Also, where the fuck is Nguyen off to? That ship ain’t that big.”

“Why? Is he of any importance right now?” Farkas asked.

“Considering I sent him grab my medical folder, yes he is.” Vadim answered.

While it had taken Carlos a few moments to find the materials for the IV, Vadim had the benefit of being much more familiar with the infirmary. In a matter of seconds, he had brought out a foldable trolley onto which he piled everything he would need to take care of the wounds, including some local anaesthetic and disinfectant.

“Why do you need the medical folder anyway?” This time the question was coming from Carlos, who handed him a medical razor in a plastic bag.

“Two things in this case.” He started.

Vadim put on a pair of nitrile gloves. Actual sterile gloves wouldn’t be necessary for the first step, and using the expendable nitrile gloves allowed him to try to get them on a couple times without ripping them apart with his ‘index’ claw (hint : by the end of it he was surrounded by shredded blue rubber). The glove also had a finger too many, but that shouldn’t be too much trouble unless he somehow snagged it on something.

“One is I put the inventory for the infirmary in it. Gotta keep track of what’s used you know? Second is, I need to check out my procedure for concussions. The wound I more or less know how to treat. As far as what’s inside your skull however Farkas... I remember a few symptoms, but not the whole thing so in the meantime that’s no sleep or water for you.” He finished.

The sphinx just grumbled and laid his head on his front paws. Not that Vadim would complain, that made his forehead easier to reach. He began his work by pulling out the sterile razor from its bag and shaving a small area around both wounds, just enough that no hair would get in. After that, he shaved some fur in the crook of Farkas’ right elbow (if that was the right terminology anyway, not that he cared overly much) to make room for an IV.

“Eh Carlos, prep me some bandages and medical tape would you? Take one of the dressings for catheter, the green ones on the top shelf too. After that, grab some cotton balls and dunk them in isobetadine.”

While the Filipino was busy seeking what he had asked, Vadim had already placed a rubber band around the sphinx’s arm and was looking for veins.

“Come to think of it I should be considered a pioneer in the medical field.” The Ukrainian commented.

“And why’s that Vadim?” Farkas asked.

“You think anyone has ever stuck a needle in a sphinx? That’s gotta be a new one.”

“Are you always that reassuring to your patients? ‘cause I’m feeling real confident in your abilities right now...” Farkas drawled.

“What, you want the Captain or the Chief to do it? Last I checked neither of them have renewed their medical certificate, and Micha hasn’t had any practice in years. You with me on that Carlos, uh?”

“That I am, but what about the Cadet?”

“De Vries?” Vadim snorted, hunched over Farkas elbow. “She says they let you skip medical practice at the academies now. Guess what she did? Went sailing instead of practicing. On a fucking sailboat to boot. How bloody useful.” He muttered. “Ah, I think I got a vein there!”

It was that moment that Alejandro chose to enter the infirmary, with the medical folder tucked under his arm.

“Hey what’s going on in there?” The blue parrot asked.

“I’m treating a patient that’s what.” Vadim answered, not looking back towards his superior. “You wouldn’t know if we’ve got a contact with the shore would you? And where is Nguyen?”

“I sent cat guy back to the kitchen and no we don’t have any contact.”

“You got my keys from him at least?” Vadim grabbed the IV kit Carlos had dropped on his trolley and began disinfecting the arm.

“That I have. You need any help?”

“Yeah you can replace Carlos.” He looked at the Filipino “No offense buddy, but even if he’s out of date on his certificate, he’s got more training than you.”

“None taken.” The white parrot answered. “Want me to inform the captain?”

“You do that. Just remember to tell we’ve got it under control, no need to alarm him without reason, got it?” That came from Alejandro, who was leafing through the folder.

“Yessir, good luck with those stitches. And Farkas... take care; I will be back when they’re done.”

With that last phrase, the guy was off, leaving the two officers and the Chief Steward in the room. Vadim was quick to sum up the situation to his senior officer and asked him to bring up the page on concussions. He had a vague idea on the ins and outs of that procedure, but for the life of him he couldn’t remember if it was allowed to give patients fluids or not.

Vadim remembered to grab two spare needles in case he fucked up on the first try and failed to get the IV in (which he expected would happen).

“I hope you don’t mind needles Farkas, ‘cause I’m going in.” Vadim said just as he pushed his first needle in after testing it briefly.

He inclined the needle slightly and tried to carefully slip it in the vein, but the ship’s motion and his own position made him overshoot. Farkas winced in pain. Vadim tried to salvage the situation, but the blood had already congealed in the needle. Time to bring out needle number two then...

Much to his relief, this time he managed to slip it in just right and with a content sigh he pulled back the needle, leaving only the pink catheter in place. He immediately compressed the vein.

“Hoy Alej’, drop the folder and purge the IV for me, I don’t think Carlos did it. Be quick I don’t want that one to congeal.”

The Chief Officer was thankfully reactive enough to get the air out of the tubing in short order. Before Farkas had the time to contemplate on his poor situation, the system was in place and he had a flow of painkiller directly feeding into his bloodstream. Vadim hung the bottle to a hook affixed above the gurney his patient was resting on.

“Ah crap.” A mistake suddenly dawned on Vadim.

“What’s it now? Nothing too important?” The Chief Officer asked him.

“Nah, beginner’s mistake, I forgot to take his parameters. Shouldn’t be too big of a mistake though...”

“What makes you think that way?” Farkas asked.

“Not that I would know since I’m not a vet, but I don’t think your parameters occupy the same range as those of a human. Still, want me to take your temperature?”

“No, just begin that stitching so I can get some rest.”

Vadim didn’t bother answering that question and set about prepping his sterile field on the trolley. He also moved a stool next to the gurney so that he would be steadier. He’d honestly rather avoid leaving too big of a scar if he could help it. He was glad that he had tucked his tail in his coveralls because he was pretty sure he would have bumped it into a couple dozen things in the rather cramped room that was the infirmary.

At first, he dumped a box of single-use sterile tools on the trolley (now covered in an aseptic field), as well as some balls of cotton dunked in isobetadine. He hesitated for a bit regarding which type of thread to use, but elected to use a number 4 average thread on both wounds. It was probably wrong, but the material looked sturdy enough to him and he didn’t want it to break. These tools were joined by a syringe he filled himself with xilocaïne (a numbing agent he would use as the local anaesthetic) before dumping it on the field.

Confident he had the materials need to make his suture, the griffon nodded softly and grabbed some actual sterile gloves to begin his work.

“Okay, that should do it. Alejandro, I will need you to back me up and prep anything I might have forgotten once I get these gloves on. Do not touch my aseptic field under any circumstance, roger?”

The blue parrot, who was leaning against a wall at this point, gave him a firm nod.

“Anything else?” The Spaniard inquired.

“Yes actually, try to look for antibiotics. I will need ten days worth of it for him.”

Vadim then picked up the syringe he had prepped with anaesthetic and checked that it was void of air and that it had had the right needle, which he bent at an angle. He would start with the head wound. Syringe in one claw, cotton in the other, he ordered Farkas to peel off the rag covering his wound. The sphinx complied and Vadim, with his elbows propped up on the gurney, set about cleaning the congealed blood off of the gash.

Doing so resulted in a small trickle of blood, but the griffon deemed it negligible and kept going. This revealed more details on the wound: the edges were uneven and jagged, but it didn’t run too deep and it didn’t seem to come into contact with any important blood vessel. Unfortunately, it wasn’t linear, instead being shaped like a T. He would need to make a double point at the crossing or risk leaving a fold in the skin. But that would come later. He sprayed a bit of anaesthetic on the wound so Farkas wouldn’t feel the needle, waited a couple seconds, and then started making his injections directly in the wound.

To the Greek sphinx’s credit, he didn’t move too much when the syringe made contact with his skin, which was a nice plus. Moving would only have made the endeavour more painful for his patient. Vadim waited a couple minutes more to let the numbing agent take effect before dropping his syringe on the trolley and picking up a pair of medical pliers. Time to investigate the underside of the gash and look for veins and nerves.

Farkas barely registered when the pliers lifted a side of the cut, allowing his Ukrainian colleague to look under the skin. Nope, nothing on that side save for some stray hairs, which Vadim was quick to wipe away with some cotton. Inspecting the other side didn’t reveal anything either, so he judged it safe to begin the suture. He had however taken note of the thickness of the skin. The underside of it, he could see, was solidly fastened to the flesh underneath by wiry strands with a small but noticeable layer of fat (the colour was very distinctive) stuck between the two. The flesh directly under the wound was just scratched and tinted a crimson red by all the blood that flooded in the area, so no suturing would be needed under the skin (he didn’t have the thread for that anyway).

Getting the motion down with one finger less took him a bit longer than he’d rather admit. The empty latex finger on each of his gloves kept taunting him each time his grip on the surgical tools faltered, for he didn’t have a little finger to help stabilize the end of the tool that held the needle. He switched his grip a couple times before being satisfied with the position, squared his shoulders and dug in.

An actual doctor would have considered Vadim’s work crude and unprofessional. Unfortunately, beggars can’t be choosers and he had to take wide margins, poking his needle just a couple millimetres further away from the lip of the wound. He wasn’t confident enough in his abilities to risk having the thread break the skin when he tightened the suture point. Critics might say he also used too much thread on each point, but that was a moot point because the gash wasn’t long enough for it to be a relevant factor.

Vadim was so focused on his work that he didn’t notice the passing of time (or Alejandro peeking curiously at his work over his shoulder). He had to stop for a while around the midway point when Farkas remarked he was starting to get some feeling back, but that was solved by a quick application of anaesthetic.

He had to catch himself before he rubbed the bridge of his beak (that would have broken sterility). He was starting to feel parched so he stopped a moment.

“Say Alejandro, you wouldn’t mind calling the kitchen and ask them to bring down a bottle of water? All that sewing is starting to make me thirsty.”

Vadim didn’t even bother listening to the Chief Officer’s answer before he dove back in, intent on finishing that first cut quickly. His headache was starting to come back from the neons that lit the infirmary despite the painkillers he had swallowed earlier after getting up.

The good thing is, he was progressively starting to work at a faster pace the more used to the process he got. If putting the first point (a double suture that had required him to poke three times through the skin to secure the centre of the cut) had been difficult, the last one was almost a breeze that was accomplished in a couple seconds. All in all, he had put seven stitches on that cut alone. He tested the resistance of the suture with a gloved finger, then, satisfied; he put some disinfectant on it and hid it behind a pad of gauze.

Even if it was bleeding a bit more, the second cut was nowhere near as hard as the first and took him only half as long as the first wound despite being twice as long. Working on a limb was definitely less stressful than poking a needle around someone’s head. By the end of his work, Vadim had a twelve point long suture that (at least, to his own eyes) looked like some proper work.

Of course, a more squeamish person might have been a bit nauseous at the sight of Farkas’ blood soaked fur and the bits of thread snaking their way through his skin. That was not the case for the persons present and Alejandro looked at Vadim’s handiwork in amazement.

“Well pal, I had no idea you had it in you for that kind of work. Where did you get the practice for that? We’ve been at sea for what? Three, four months?”

“Pig feet. I try to grab one from the kitchen once every two weeks to practice. That burns through the medical supplies, but I get my practice and the company’s happy to keep the supplies coming.” He answered, taking off his gloves. Those weren’t really necessary for putting bandages.

Vadim was all too glad he could take off the blood soaked gloves, finally able to get rid of the itching at the base of his beak. Someone behind passed by on the way to the main deck and dropped a bottle of water for him, which he swiftly guzzled down.

Cleaning Farkas’ wounds and putting bandages on top was merely an afterthought with the biggest part of the work already done (except medical tape didn’t work with the fur and he had to waste some more gauze to keep the bandages in place). He instructed the sphinx to avoid changing the bandages unless he soiled them or felt any sign of infection under. He also gave him his antibiotics and told him to avoid straining his injured leg if he could help it (he probably couldn’t but Vadim felt it necessary to tell him). After that, he sent him off with a warning to be careful around stairs.

“You need help with cleaning up Vadim?” His parrot colleague asked, and Vadim noted that Alejandro seemed to tilt his head to the side whenever he asked a question or showed curiosity. Avian body language, that’s a new thing he noted in his head.

“I will be fine” He replied with a wave of his claw. “That should be done and filed in a couple of minutes. I will fill in the incident report tomorrow and send it to Farkas to sign. For the rest of work, I remember my watch plan, your mooring plan is in the cafeteria, just remember to pass it along and if you’re looking for me, I will be in my room doing some sewing after I’m done with that. Is that all?”

“You remembered to get your shoes to Boris?”

“I have. Have you?”

“Nah, we don’t have the same foot shape. De Vries is trying to think of something during her watch.”

“His watch.” Vadim corrected him.

“Yeah whatever. Not important.”

With that last remark, the Spaniard walked off ignorant of Vadim’s stare.

Gender issues were sooo going to fuck up this crew’s relations.

Vadim just tossed the used materials in the bin with a huff (that sounded like an annoyed trill).

Author's Note

The medical procedure present in the chapter is deliberately flawed to hint at the character's lack of experience so no need to point out the mistakes.
According to my schedule the ship should hit port in two or three chapters, which should be two or three weeks if I stick to my planned update schedule.

Some trivia regarding Amandine : she's actually widely inspired of the actual M/V Amandine (seen in the title picture) and basically has the same specs, with the biggest difference being that this story's ship has side ramps (for convenience later on).

For those interested the actual Amandine's IMO number is 9424871. She can be tracked via marinetraffic.

Chapter 6: Anchor Watch and Morale Talks

While a certain Ukrainian griffon was busy practicing his sewing on living tissue, work for the watch officer up on the bridge was a lot more boring.

Cadet De Vries had honestly expected that the first watch he would do on his own was going to be a lot more... active. That expectation might have held some truth... had it been under normal circumstances. If the area they were in had been one of the world’s busiest waterways before they got themselves turned into furry fetishes (he shuddered at the thought), now the anchorage was all but deserted and the safety margins they had taken, which were considered sufficient with traffic, were now ludicrously excessive with an absent risk of collision. So he was just twirling a pen in his claw.

With nothing to keep him busy but his own thoughts and filling the logbook (which didn’t even take that much time), Geert soon found his mind wandering towards places he’d rather avoid, namely, his own transformation. He could only clench his beak when he thought about the implications of the bloody thing.

He hadn’t been entirely awake when the captain called them earlier to the bridge and had only realized part of the change. 'Oh look I got feathers' He had thought then. The complete scope of the change just hadn’t quite clicked into place yet.

But it had come crashing down at terminal speed when someone pointed out to him that his body shape was a bit off... for a male. Of course he hadn’t noticed at first, being more concerned by other... details, like the presence of a large feathery tail and a black and white beak.

Then other elements sprung up to add themselves to the puzzle. How wide his hips were, the fact the proportions of his ribcage and shoulders were quite narrow (fortunately he wasn’t burdened by breasts, but the angular shape of his ribcage was still very different from a human bone structure). And finally of course, the thing he really shouldn’t have missed when he got up and put on his coveralls was... the Void in his nether regions. He shuddered again.

The feathers he could deal with. Being the colour of a fucking rainbow he could deal with. Having a fucking beak and claws he could deal with. But having his motherfucking dick ripped off by some weird ass electromagnetic storm thingy. Hell fucking NO! How was this even fair?!

There was a crack. In his frustration he had broken his pen, spilling black ink on his claws. Fucking fantastic... He thought.

Geert stood up to fetch a tissue and wipe his soiled claws with a huff. He had plans before being turned into a macaw mind you. Plans he had drawn since he had signed up at the maritime academy back home for after he got his officer license. He had a girlfriend waiting for him back home in Groningen...

Guess those plans flew out the proverbial window the moment he woke up as a chick... Chick... Shit now he was making puns at his own expense, and in English to boot. He didn’t even like the language! Lacked the more pleasant singing tones of Northern Dutch... His feathers bristled.

There was a sink in a corner of the bridge, next to the toilet meant for the watch officer (so the guy wouldn’t have to leave the bridge if he really needed to release pressure in the tank). Geert went to wash the ink stains off of his claws there. In passing, he got a solid look at his new face in the mirror.

Poking out of his collar, his 'new' neck was thin, fluffy, and covered in bright red feathers. It was noticeably longer than what would be considered normal on a human and contributed to making his general silhouette appear very slender, though it wasn’t long enough to twist his proportions into those of a giraffe lookalike. His new body was lean, and a bit taller than he used to be (and that was something considering he used to be 1m85). He had lost on the strength scale however, because that body was clearly meant for speed and agility instead of raw power. Not very practical in an industrial environment...

Affixed to his neck was an angularly shaped head with a backwards swept forehead that was just high enough not to make people think of a caveman (he wouldn’t say woman)when they looked at him. And right in the middle of it all was a large curved macaw beak, with the top mandible white and the bottom one black. Geert knew that the appendage was unexpectedly sharp, but that it also had the odd property of being able to bend just enough to show facial expressions as he had tested earlier in his cabin by pulling faces in the mirror.

The beak hid some rows of molar in the back of his mouth (which allowed for some variety in nutrition, but not enough for him unfortunately, he had tried and was now stuck with a vegetarian diet after emptying the content of his stomach in his sink, salted beef was a no-go as of now). Geert opened his mouth, revealing a long black tongue in the middle of his mouth. He wiggled it a bit, the appendage was surprisingly agile and in all honesty, creeped him out a little bit.

As for his eyes, they had turned from their former deep blue colour to a teal colour, but at least they had the merit of having stayed human. Both were framed by a patch of white skin that reached as low as his cheekbones. Standing-in for the hairs which would have made up his eyebrows and eyelashes were very small green-blue downy feathers. The eyebrows themselves were only visible because they stood out against the red down feathers on his forehead.

His ears, too, had fallen victim to the Cataclysm. They were much bigger than before. From what he could feel they had become some sort of mobile elf-ish ears, but their appearance seemed even bigger due to the fact they were covered in the same red feathers that now made up most of his plumage. Most of, because the feathers on his arms, part of his tail and also those that had replaced his hair, were now shades of blue, green and yellow. His ‘hair’ or rather crest if he had give it a more fitting name (though it didn’t seem to have the range of motion the crest of the Chief Officer boasted for some reason), was now made up of a large number of long feathers that reached the middle of his back, with a handful of them forming some ‘bangs’ that framed the sides of his face.

Geert just glared spitefully at the reflection in the mirror, his reflection. He was cute.

“How in hell am I supposed to be taken seriously if I look like some furry fetish?” He muttered to himself in Dutch. He didn't really have anything against these guys, they usually kept to their own turf, but he dreaded being associated with them. That's not something you would want on your CV.

He picked up a towel and dried his hands. The ink had barely been visible against his black scales anyway.

The Dutchman didn’t bother lingering on his thoughts and instead decided to keep himself busy by trying to come up with a design for some new shoes that would fit his transformed feet. Boris down in the cafeteria was busy modifying some, but had only been able to find a design for the digitigrade feet found on most species in the crew, not including the hooves found on the hippogriffs and the lone minotaur. Feet with a backward facing toe on the ankle like those found on the parrots apparently required an entirely different approach.

Geert gave a look in passing at the navigation instruments and found nothing of note. The vicinity of the ship was still completely deserted, and the radio instruments were cycling automatically through every possible channel (that they had an antenna for) without hearing anything. The satellite connection was good though. Might be because nobody was making use of the bandwidth though, so not that good as far as they were concerned. Still, most servers on the Internet were still running. Whether that was going to last, however, was an unknown variable.

He grabbed a sheet of paper from the printer and sat down in the navigator’s chair by the helm. With his tail, he had to take care to push it aside and not sit down on it. The feeling of bent feathers, as he had experienced earlier, was particularly unpleasant, and for some reason he just couldn't stand the sight of his feathers being out of place.

If modifying his own sets of coveralls had been relatively easy (though he still had no idea on how to add some protection for his tail), coming up with an idea for shoes was completely different. His body? Similar enough to a human that he could just loosen the fabric in places and tighten it in others, that he had done plenty of times back when he was human every time he bought a new set. The shoes on the other hand (or claw, he mused, giving a glance at the appendage with which he was twirling a new pen), were something he didn’t think any human had ever bothered to design.

Except maybe... Nah, and if someone learned about that idea he would pass for either a fool or some kind of creep.

But it wasn’t like he had any better idea and exceptional circumstances lead to exceptional decisions, right? Plus if he was quick enough to delete the search history, he would be able to get away with it without attracting ridicule from the rest of the crew.

Geert steeled himself, he had to be sure of what he was going to do, else he slows down and risk having his plan discovered. He quickly fetched a company laptop that had been left next to the chart table and plugged it into the ship’s mainframe. He logged in on the server and accessed the system that would allow him to consult the Internet via the satellite connection. He would have to be quick, the secretary tended to heavily monitor anything that went through that line.

A few seconds later, he was able to boot up a search engine. The moment of truth had come, he thought.

In the search bar, he typed ‘bird furry’ and looked for images.

After a glance he remembered to set the safe search back on. God that one was going to leave a scar in his memory. He shook his head. Thank God the furries didn't openly advertise that content.

On the bright side, the endeavour was not all in vain because after a few seconds he already had a couple results to atone for his sinful use of company bandwidth (to be honest he would have avoided it if it could be helped but he didn’t really have any better idea). Most pictures depicted some really sketchy representations of what he had turned into, but he was more interested in possible designs for a new pair of shoes that included space for the hind toe.

Few pictures had actual ideas for shoes and rather elected to cover the feet with a design akin to a pair of fingerless gloves.

Come to think of it that might be doable if he could get his hands on the appropriate materials. Kevlar and leather certainly, and maybe he could add bits of rubber on the knuckles and the soles for added protection. That wouldn’t be as effective as safety boots, but he could salvage the soles from his own pair to get the puncture protection, though the crushing protection was a lost cause for sure. Yeah, that would do. He began drawing in earnest.

His designing was cut short a good fifteen minutes later when he received a call from an irate secretary that asked him what the hell he was doing googgling furries from the bridge computer. The Cadet apologised profusely and attempted to explain his reasoning, to no avail. The Italian secretary on the other end of the line just called him a dumbass (and some other things in Italian that probably meant about the same thing) and hung up without giving him the time to answer.

“Jeez, someone got up on the wrong foot this morning.” He said to himself, leaning back in his seat. “Eh, not like I wasn’t expecting it...” He mused, before turning back to his drawings after taking a look at the instruments. "Plus it's not like that's the most twisted shit guys can jack off to... That guy should get a look at some of the porn stashes on board before calling me a sick fuck."

Still nothing on the radar, good, he could keep on designing those foot-gloves. Completing a workable design took up about half of his watch, to which he added some notes before scanning it and sending it to the Chief Officer. The guy had turned into a parrot too after all, and he may have some use for it. Geert on the other hand, wouldn’t be able to act on his design until he got the materials for it, which they certainly didn’t have on board. Not in a usable state anyway.

Eh, unless they miraculously turned back human once they reached the shore, he would still need to do it by then. In all likelihood he should be able to get his hands on some materials at a depot in port.

Deciding he’d better keep himself busy for the rest of his watch, lest he start thinking too deeply again, he once again took control of the laptop and accessed the CCTV archives to get a look at what went on earlier that night. What time had Vadim said again? Right, 01.30.

He carefully browsed through every camera installed on the ship. Those situated inside were kind of useless because nobody was on screen and he couldn’t get a look at what was going on outside, but the cameras on the bridge and those on deck were much more interesting to look at on the other hand.

Geert brought up both the deck and bridge cams on screen at the same time and jumped to the moment of the incident. The flashes of colour were there, like Vadim had described, but there was something more. He leaned forward and squinted at the screen. Something had gone on with the ships at the anchorage. He went back a few seconds.

There. On the camera overlooking the main deck, he could get a good view of the other ships that had been around them at the moment. He carefully slowed down the feed and focussed on the other ships.

At the moment where the lightning began to flash, he clearly saw that the phenomenon hadn’t actually been a global occurrence. There appeared to be a circle of light surrounding each ship. It was hard to see because the one around Amandine was overshadowing the rest, but the difference between the circles and the night sky was definitely visible.

All circles pulsated a couple times before the ships began to... disappear outright. But there was a pattern there. First it was the ships on the most western part of the anchorage, and then it began to sweep the rest of them away like a wave. When it reached Amandine, the feed cut to static for just a third of a second, before being replaced by the morning sky that had greeted them a couple hours earlier.

As for the bridge cam, it showed Vadim collapsing at the time the ships began to disappear. The transformation (if it could be called such, one instant there was a human, and on the next frame there was a griffon in his place) only occurred after the feed cut to static, implying that there might be a gap that the instruments failed to pick up. The systems hadn’t rebooted during the incident so there really wasn’t any reason to believe an electromagnetic pulse had knocked out the power, but there still seemed to be a gap. Geert scratched his head, utterly baffled at the thing. He would have to bring it up with the Captain if he had already got a look at the cameras.

Still, that was impressive to see. One instant you've got something like five hundred thousand tons in total displacement worth of ships, all solidly anchored and well monitored. And the next thing you know they've all been swept away by magic sky circles. Aliens? Nah, not enough ass probes.

Geert took out a notepad from his breast pocket and added the cameras to his to-do list. It didn’t really help with figuring out the source, but the circles above the ships were certainly a worthwhile clue he should look into.

Maybe that with a bit of elbow grease he could transfer the files to a better processing system.

The newly parrot then found himself once again stuck alone with his thoughts. No. He thought. Got to keep himself busy else his thoughts begin drifting in a direction he didn’t wish to take. He pinched his beak in thought.

The passage graph to port? Sure it was only 20 nautical miles to port but he could make one. He brought out the folder with the charts on his computer screen... only to discover Alejandro had already made one with a premade algorithm. Damn that Spaniard was too smart for his own sake. Geert closed the laptop with a snort and gave a glare at the clock.

Two and a half hours to go... What to do then? He crossed his legs and rested his elbows on his thighs.

New shoes? Designed, and waiting for materials.

Cameras? Inspected, Captain already looking at it anyway.

Charts? All done by an excessively professional Chief Mate.

On the edge of his sight, he spotted a flicker of movement far off in the distance on the port side of the ship. He squinted and saw a couple grey shapes sink below the surface.

Looks like the seals were having fun. The ocean must be pretty quiet now that there are no more ships to cause excess noise. Cute little critters, they must be happy to have all the fish for themselves now.

Geert glanced down at his own lap. No, he definitely didn’t want to dwell on what was between his legs at the moment. His eyes drifted sideways and he rested his gaze on his feet.

Not an interesting subject, but still miles ahead of thinking about a dick-ripping time travel. He flexed his toes and observed as the claws balled in on themselves, forming a fist. Eh, maybe somewhere down the line he could figure out some practical use for those. He checked the instruments quickly, still nothing new but his pen by the screen drew his attention. His eyes hovered between it and his foot.

Welp, time to figure out if he’s right handed with his feet too.

A couple hours later on the ship, a meeting was taking place in the officers’ lounge. Unlike the cafeteria, which was decorated in a less frivolous manner, the lounge was a place of leisure that was reserved for the sole use of Officers. It had a small but well furnished bar, made out of well a dark varnished wood that also covered most of the walls. The rest were covered in a purple layer of fabric that gave the dimly lit room an even darker appearance. The lightning wasn’t improved by the fact that the room didn’t have any windows.

One side of the room was occupied by a large oak table surrounded by a comfortable couch. Most of the time they used it to host card games and liquor tastings, but tonight it was occupied by each of the ship’s head of departments: Chief Officer Mendoza, Chief Engineer Schmitt (a Luxembourgian now turned into a pale orange female dragon) and Chief Steward Farkas, the sphinx who was still nursing his wounds with his foreleg and forehead heavily bandaged. All were currently seated at the table (though for Farkas, it was more akin to lying on the seating due to his inability to really ‘sit’ like a human).

Besides them, there were two other people present in the room, those being the Boatswain, Artyom, who was leaning against the wall by the door, and the Captain himself standing in the middle of the room, now dressed with a properly adjusted shirt (with a collar that wasn’t threatening to tear up the instant he sneezed). He was leafing through a notepad, which, a moment later, he tucked in a pocket.

“Alright Gentlemen” Dilip intoned “Is anyone of you aware of why we’re gathered today?”

Everyone gathered at the table shook their head except for Artyom who just snorted, expelling a small puff of smoke in passing.

“Very well then, I’ve assembled you all tonight to assess the state of the crew and most importantly...” He halted for a second “To get your opinion on how things will go once we hit port.”

Artyom frowned at that statement.

“Captain with all due respect that question is worthless. We’re all suffering from the effects of the transformation at the moment...” He glanced at Schmitt and Farkas “Some worse than others, of course.”

The Chief Engineer stared back at the Russian dragon “While I appreciate the concern Artyom, you of all people should know that’s not our first time at sea. I personally ensured that everyone in Engineering was aware that even though the situation is pretty dramatic –that much I must concede- the ship does need to be kept running. Everyone is distraught, true, but we are all mature enough to put it past us for as long as it takes to get our job done.” He glanced at the rest of the assembly “Am I mistaken?”

“Not as far as my own department is concerned” Alejandro answered “It’s entirely correct even” He nodded towards Artyom “After helping Vadim with Farkas in the infirmary, we made some rounds to... sample the crew’s opinion, so to speak. Most of those that don’t have duties stick to their cabins, if they’re not smoking on deck. And trust me on that, going by the volume of cigarettes being smoked today, they are pretty stressed.”

Dilip frowned “That much I expected, what I really want to know on the other hand, that’s if this stress is likely to cause any issue down the line. Have you seen anyone who looked troubled enough that they could lash out?”

“No cap’ain” The Chief Steward said “The crewmembers, they have their own circles, if it’s not members of the same nationalities, then it’s friends they made during our voyages and co-workers from the same department. Trust me, earlier today the Chief cook was pretty pissed but Nguyen managed to talk him out of anything stupid. My point is... If we want to avoid any problem, then we’ve got to make sure they don’t isolate themselves. That would only make matters worse. As long as those circles stick together, they should make it through with their sanity well in check.”

The Captain nodded and paced around for a bit “I know people were already overloaded to begin with.” He began “But you guys really need to keep your departments under control at the moment. Presently, our margin of error for any kind of work is drastically reduced due to our equipment not being a good fit and us not being familiar with our own bodies. How did it go with the fire fighting equipment by the way?”

“Pretty bad” The Chief Engineer answered, “But still better than expected. We managed to refit the fire suits for use, but the breathing apparatus is a complete bust. Even with the species that have a shorter muzzle like the cats and dogs, the masks leak way too much. I’ve got guys looking into designs for that, but it’s delicate equipment so I doubt we can find a quick fix for it. And using them on beaks or long muzzles just doesn’t work, at all. I'm just gonna go a bit further with your 'being familiar with your body' thing. Don't you all find it odd that we can walk around at all? I mean, those changes are pretty drastic and while we all have difficulties with the finer details... Even I can walk around mostly fine, and I have to move around on four legs!”

“I try not to think to hard about it. Must be ingrained into us like breathing. You start thinking about it, then you stumble around like an idiot. Back to the masks, you really have nothing to make it work for now?”

“We make do with the chemical suits, if you put those on above the actual fire suit and breathing apparatus, then the leak is somewhat contained. The whole thing really isn’t practical however, and those suits aren’t made to withstand high temperatures. They are rated for 100 degrees tops. It’s good... but it’s not enough.”

Dilip nodded “Very well, let’s minimize the fire hazard then. I want you to cancel any operation of hot work or grinding until we have a fix, and put some more emphasis on fire prevention. The crew will find it annoying, but I’m afraid it’s necessary. For the dragons, I don't think I need to remind you both not to fuck around with the fire breath, if you even have it under control.” He looked at Farkas “Please notify the cooks that using the fryers in the kitchen is forbidden until further notice, and shut down the dryers in the laundry room. You may make use of the holds to air wet sheets and clothing. Understood?”

“Crystal clear Captain.” Farkas replied.

“Good. Before we go further and discuss what’s gonna happen in port, does any of you have anything to add?” He spotted the Boatswain making a subtle gesture at him. “Yes Artyom?”

The dragon stopped leaning against the wall and approached the centre of the room with a confident gait.

“I don’t want to undermine what’s being said about crew morale but I do need to remind everyone that there’s a factor we’ve been forgetting, and some of us” He gave the Chief Engineer a pointed look, which the other dragon returned in kind “Really should have mentioned it from the start. I’m talking about those on this crew that had their sex changed by whatever it is that happened earlier.”

“And your point is, Artyom?” The Captain inquired with a quizzical look.

“That I pride myself as being closer to the ratings of this crew than you officers, which is normal since I’m here to represent them. And from my observations, while I do agree that the male crewmembers have managed to swallow the pill and move on –at least as long as there’s work to be done-, I get a much more... dubious, I think the word is. Yes, a dubious vibe from the newly made females.”

The reaction was immediate from Schmitt, the Chief Engineer now a female dragon. He stood up from his seat and sent Artyom a scathing glare.

“And what is it exactly that you’re saying now?” He yelled, pointing an accusatory claw in his direction “Just because I got turned into a gal doesn’t mean I can’t do my job anymore!”

“That’s not what I meant” The Russian replied with a shake of his head. “What I mean, is that all, and I insist on all, that includes you Schmitt; of the crewmates that changed sex have been fervently pouring themselves into their work. And on this ship, Captain, that’s something I’ve seen a couple times.”

Dilip inclined his head and motioned to the dragon to keep going.

“Last time it happened? Thanasis, the oiler, just after his divorce. The time before? That was Nguyen when he learned his brother had a car accident on the other side of the world. My point? Each time I saw that, that was a man drowning himself in work to avoid thinking about a problem too much.”

Schmitt literally growled in response to what Artyom was saying.

“So now you’re accusing me of being irresponsible with my work uh? And do you even have a solution to that?! Like a fucking therapist?” He almost moved to jump over the table to get to Artyom but was stopped by Farkas putting a paw on his shoulder. The sphinx gave him a piercing look. Even wounded, the guy was unexpectedly strong.

“I don’t think violence is gonna help in any form with that issue.” The Greek said. “I can’t pretend we’re qualified for that kind of situation. Nor is anyone on this crew. But I can’t say that bottling it up and avoiding the problem will get you any further either.”

The female dragon faltered and stared at his own claws for a few moments before shaking his head and sitting back down. “Fine!” He growled out “I will gather the... female part of the crew and have a talk with them.” He turned his head towards Artyom with a fiery gaze and a trail of smoke coming out of his nostrils “That good enough for you? And I better not catch any of you treating us any different, else I throw him in the incinerator, got it?!”

“I think that will be plenty enough for now” The Captain declared. “And all hope is not lost either... If whatever it is that happened could change our shape like that, it can probably be undone.” The last part came out with a distinct lack of confidence that didn’t go unheard by the people in the room. “Is everyone satisfied with this decision?” Everyone gave him a firm nod, so he decided to go on. “Now as for what’s ahead of us once the mooring lines are in place. I think it can go two ways, from a general viewpoint. One; is that once we arrive we find activity. I don’t care if it’s human or creatures like we’ve become. Second; is that nobody is there when we arrive.”

“And between those two situations, what does that change for us?” Artyom inquired.

“If the port isn’t as deserted as the anchorage then we can use the company’s office to figure out a course of action, get some contacts, and find out what happened. If nobody’s there, then we’re stuck investigating on our own. And trying not to have the crew run off on their own.”

“Run off?” Farkas asked “You really think the crew will run off like that first chance they get?”

“That depends on whom.” Dilip admitted “I don’t think the Asians are going to leave, but the Europeans, they might want to go and check out what happened to their family. I don’t like it, but let’s face it. We don’t really have any right to stop them from doing that, and I would perfectly understand their decision.”

“And that would only happen if we don’t find anyone according to you?”

“Yes, my assumption was that if we find activity in port, then that means civilization is still present after today’s incident, and their families have a good chance to be safe. Failing that, I would expect them to take matters into their own hands and go see for themselves.”

Alejandro shook his head. “I don’t agree Dilip. Most of the guys on this ship have been working together for a while. Surely they wouldn’t just risk making their way across a deserted and possibly dangerous continent for a family that is very likely to be gone when they get there. I know I wouldn’t.”

“Not everybody reacts the same way Alejandro” Farkas piped up. “Some of these guys, they signed up to work a profitable job for a while before they got back to their families on land. I’d find it abnormal if they didn’t try to get in contact with them when they got the chance. They’re always calling them whenever they can when we're close enough to the shore.”

“You may be right, but that doesn’t mean I’m too happy at the thought of half the crew splitting up and going their own merry way in the middle of the apocalypse.” The parrot added.

“Yet that doesn’t give us the right to hold them here.” Artyom butted in. “And even if people ashore are fine, they will want to contact them and have every right to do so.” He looked at the captain. “And as soon as the ramp is down, they are technically free to go if they feel like it, regardless of what order you may give them.”

“Would you object to me giving a briefing about that Artyom?” Dilip asked “I know as the Captain I don’t have to go through you to do that; but you being a representative for the ratings, I’m going to ask you. Can I give them a short speech about their choices in port? I want to tell them they are free to strike out on their own and leave if they feel like it, but that I’d rather have everyone stick together until that situation is sorted out.”

The dragon raised his eyeridges at the request. That was a first coming from the Captain.

“Agreed. What will you tell them about their wages?”

“If we don’t find anybody you mean?” That whole assumption seemed more accepted than they were willing to let on “I’m ready to dig into the ship’s money supply to pay back the leavers... though I don’t think a wad of cash is really any help if the country is a desert.”

Artyom shrugged. “As long as they get their choice and they’re content with it. I don’t know about you but I don’t feel like leaving either. Now Captain, it’s up to you to convince them to stay. Was that everything we needed to discuss?” He ended his sentence by looking around the table at the assembled creatures.

Dilip gave him a firm nod and proceeded to walk off immediately in the direction of his quarters. The rest of the people in the crew looked at each other before following in kind, with the exception of Alejandro who stayed behind and pulled out a projector from under the couch.

End of the world or not he was gonna catch up on his favourite series.

Not too far from Amandine, a scream resonated in a warehouse, unheard by anyone but its source.

Author's Note

That's it for the boring anchorage stuff folks. Next chapter, the crew is hitting port and the pace should accelerate.

Chapter 7: Land Ahoy

When morning rose on the 25th, nothing else really happened to put the crew further off balance than it had been the day before. If most were a bit miffed that their transformation wasn’t actually a temporary thing, they had kind of expected to be stuck the way they were for a while. People grumbled, but everyone decided they preferred to keep their pride rather than wallow in self-pity. Work was cathartic enough for them.

By noon, everyone had managed to sort out their situation regarding clothing, even the sphinxes when someone spared the time to modify their coveralls for them. Those were a quick fix for someone with a sewing kit and some elbow grease. On the other hand, it went without saying that everyone was going commando under the bright orange suits, modifying clothes other their orange uniforms really was too much of a hassle. Plus the weather was warm enough already.

As for the shoes, a constant supply of caffeine had allowed Boris to push through with the modifications for the cats, dogs, dragons and griffons. The Russian griffon was now enjoying some well deserved rest in his cabin before the ship weighed anchor. A few hours in bed and he would be good as new to deal with the mooring. The other species were still in need of shoes though. It wasn’t a big deal for the minotaur and the hippogriffs because their hooves were quit sturdy (though they were clueless as to how far that resistance went), but it was much more of a problem for the four parrots on board, who all had to be very mindful of where they stepped lest they lose a toe.

To the insistence of Farkas, the Cooks organised a barbecue on the main deck to get all crewmen out of their cabins and force them to socialize a bit. The cloud cover had cleared up entirely and the weather was now perfectly sunny, with only some small mist banks having been spotted earlier in the morning. On a regular day, a good occasion to seize for some cheery meal with the crew. In those circumstances? A necessity to bring the crewmen out of hiding.

Rahul and Nguyen had set up a couple tables on trestles towards the back of the long deck, with the help of some guys from engineering who were having a walk outside. The meats had already been pre-cooked and only needed to be grilled for a bit before serving, so that was some time they could save to make food for the vegetarians of the crew.

“Say Rahul, think you can deal with setting up the grill? I’m gonna fetch the food now.” The Vietnamese cat asked his colleague.

“Sure, go ahead. That’s a load I won’t have to carry down the stairs.” The dog answered with a wave of his hand. He was busy setting up a hose in case the grilling went south. It never hurt to be careful.

What the cat didn’t tell was that he also wanted to bring the food by himself so that he could ‘correct’ Rahul’s choice of spices so to speak. The mutt had had the idea of making some honey sauce, but for some unknown reason had decided to add an ungodly amount of curry to the mixture. Sometimes he wondered what went through the Chief Cook’s head; the guy was literally unable to cook a single thing without dousing it with spices.

Any sane person knew lemons were always the best addition to a meal.

Up in the accommodation, Vadim was putting the finishing touches on his suits. He had torn apart one of his older set of coveralls to add a ‘sleeve’ at the back to fit his tail (rather important considering the flame resistant properties of the material), as well as adding some zippers on the back so that he could let his wings free if he ever needed them. Not really necessary, but he had an inkling that those wings would be of some actual use somewhere down the line. He just needed to spare the time to figure out how to make them work... A resource that was in unfortunately short supply for him as of late.

He even had managed to spare some time to remove the pinkie on his work gloves to make them look a bit less ridiculous, though he would have to be careful with his claws unless he wanted to fix the fingers every week or so. Still, that helped him avoid injuring his hands- er, claws that is- just by walking around on the ship’s rough surfaces, and having to wash his hands all the time.

Vadim checked the clock. 13.00. About time he got down to take his share of the barbecue otherwise he wouldn’t get anything in his stomach before they hit port. The engineers were due to begin with the starting procedures soon enough and if he heard correctly they wanted to go through the complete procedure instead of the shortened one. Eh, if it keeps them happy, so be it.

He put on his clothes above his scruffy coat of feathers. He probably should do something about it but he didn’t really know how to go about it. Birds don’t brush their feathers do they? If the Internet was still up when he got the time he would look into it.

Trying out the new shoes was a pleasant surprise for him. As much as he trusted Boris, he hadn’t expected the Russian to manage that good of a job with his work. Of course, there was some margin for improvement, but the result was more than enough to work safely. The soles had essentially been cut in the multiple segments to allow more flexibility for his feet, with some minute changes at the plant of the feet and around the laces to make them more comfortable and keep them tightly in place.

Vadim didn’t bother taking his jacket – the weather was warm enough outside- so he transferred his gear to his coveralls before putting on a harness above them. He also grabbed a copy of his mooring plan, his goggles and his ear protectors, which all went in his harness, accompanying a small number of tools. He was going to need those to get the lines in position for the mooring.

The griffon checked his gear one last time before heading out the door and down several stories to the main deck. He could have taken the lift, but the Captain tended to be very... partial towards using it for anything that wasn’t hauling stores, so he stuck to the stairs.

Whilst he had gotten somewhat used to moving around on all fours, Vadim still was a bit apprehensive of those stairs, and he perfectly understood how Farkas could have fallen the day before (the Chief Steward and the other sphinxes had thus been allowed to use the lift until they were properly acquainted with their new forms). They were much steeper than regular stairs, almost like ladders, and that’s how the Ukrainian chose to approach them.

Being a vehicle carrier, Amandine’s decks were essentially roads repurposed as parking space for the Lorries and cars she usually carried across the channel. The ‘main’ deck as they called it wasn’t actually the legal main deck but the highest car deck present on the ship, and the one most exposed to the elements. Usually, it was packed tight with trailers, but Amandine had been on a ballast voyage before jumping ahead in time, so they didn’t have any vehicle on board at the moment save for a couple forklifts and two tow trucks they used to move their supply containers around.

The deck was divided in two parts: the fore part was ahead of the castle and was thus entirely exposed, and the aft part (which housed the small inner ramp that allowed vehicles to go up and down the ship’s car lanes) that was sheltered on the sides by the accommodation, and that could be closed off by an as of now open hangar door.

The cooks had set up shop at the very stern of the ship, with their barbecue hanging over the railing, safely protected from the winds by a couple of well-placed sheets of metal. A couple benches and tables on trestles surrounded the cooks who were already serving food to the few crewmembers already present.

Vadim was quick to grab himself a serving of grilled beef and get himself seated with a couple guys from engineering, including the Second Engineer, Angelo, now a minotaur.

Said engineer had gained a considerable amount of bulk with his change, going from a geeky Greek guy to a hulking mass of muscles overnight. As he was dressed in coveralls (his being distinctly stained with oil) like almost everyone on board, Vadim couldn’t see too much of his pale grey fur, but he had a pretty good view of his large bovine head, boasting some pointy white horns poking out of his frizzy mop of hair, right besides the floppy ears.

Sitting next to the minotaur was one of the ship’s two gargoyles, as they had dubbed them (though there was some debate regarding whether they should be called satyrs instead). The being was a bipedal creature that would have stood at 1m50 upright, with a stocky build. He had some goat-like legs complete with black hooves. Vadim could see a tail poking out the seat of his pants, ending in a fork. It was lazily swinging back and forth behind its owner. A bulge in the back of his coveralls indicated that he, too, had been granted wings, though Vadim had yet to see them. His entire body except for the face was covered in ginger fur. He had a shaggy black mane going from the base of his neck to the top of his head, which was quite human save for a stubby snout. On either side of his face, you could see a large mobile ear and an antler timidly poking their way out of the mane.

“So how are things down in the engine room?” He asked distractedly as he took a bite of his meal.

“Thankfully, good.” The gargoyle answered curtly. He was called Nikola, a Bulgarian, if he remembered correctly. “It’s a good thing we had already gone through an overhaul recently, ‘cause otherwise we would be in some deep shit I tell you.” The guy continued without looking up from his meal.

“Really?” Vadim cocked his head “I would think that it being a relatively recent engine it shouldn’t cause too much trouble.”

“It’s not the engine that’s bothering us” Angelo shook his head, missing the fact that his impressive rack of horns came dangerously close to goring his table mates. “The problems are coming from the pumps... Both the cooling and fuel pumps actually. We had to replace them recently and the engine controls are still set for the previous models, so they tend to be a bit capricious until we adjust it in the computer. That, and we haven’t entirely worked out the relation between rpm and feed rate yet, so we are stuck to managing it manually for now.”

“And that’s annoying as all fuck...” The gargoyle muttered.

“And I second that!” His minotaur colleague added “Plus there’s only Aleksei that can use the automation program correctly in engineering, and the guy codes like ass.” Angelo caught the pointed stare from Vadim “Eh, I’m not dissing him freely!” He raised his hands defensively “He admitted himself that was he does with the program is mostly throwing shit at the wall and see what sticks.”

“If you say so” The griffon shrugged “Still, will it be alright with the engine start this afternoon?”

“Yeah, don’t you worry about that. We’re manning the engines fully, so everything is under control, even if we’re short one guy until we figure out how to make sphinxes work.”

“Remind me once, who’s the guy? I can hardly put faces on creatures with that transformation...”

“Thanasis” Nikola said, taking a sip from a can of soda “Fella’s been acting pretty pissed off since he lost his hands. Last I checked he was using his mouth to get by... But I hardly think that’s a solution with the amount of grease we’ve got down there.”

“Makes me glad I still have hands...” Angelo added sombrely, giving his plate an empty look.

“Oh come off it now!” Vadim barked at the minotaur and gargoyle “You’re both close enough to human at least, at least you don’t have to deal with walking on all fours all over the place. Lemme tell you that gives you a new insight on keeping the floor clean.”

Nikola shrugged “Eh at least we all got to keep our dick.”

“True that” Angelo nodded sagely. “How is it going with Micha by the way Vadim?”

“Still bad, but better since Schmitt got them all together for a talk. I have no idea what they said, but he’s been sulking a lot less. Seems to hang around with the cadet a lot too.”

“What, the cadet got turned too? Shit mate, that’s more people swapping genitals than I thought. How many?” Nikola asked.

“Nine of them.” He answered, garnering dismayed comments from the rest of the table. “I know, a third of the crew, could be worse still.”

“Could be better too.” Nikola countered, jabbing his fork in Vadim’s direction.

“Well unless you’re willing to go and pray to every God in existence, dipshit, then you’re just stuck that way.” Vadim countered. “Like it or not we’re stuck with that and last I checked we don’t really have anything to deal with it.” He paused to take a sip of his drink. “Honestly, I’d rather make do with the hand I was given than go bitching ‘bout how depressed the situation makes me.”

“The sage has spoken!” Angelo shouted. “On another note, I’d really like to be able to taste that honeyed meat you’re all eating but...” He frowned “Should I be worried about wanting to eat beef?”

“Cannibal” Nikola blurted out jokingly “Though you ain’t missing much” He eyed his food distastefully “For some reason Nguyen felt it wise to add lemon and didn’t bother stopping Rahul from putting in his goddamn curry.”

“Still better than the cinnamon rice.” Vadim commented.

“Yeah, barely.” Nikola waved a hand towards Angelo’s plate “At least they didn’t mix recipes with your grilled veggies.”

The minotaur snorted at the comment and, with nobody bothering to pick up the conversation from there, the trio fell to eating in silence for the rest of the barbecue. After a while, they all parted ways, with Vadim going to make his checks on the winches.

A few hours later, all the engineers were assembled down in the engine control room. The time had come to start up the engine and get the ship going.

The place was divided into two rooms. One was an office that had the ladder leading up to the accommodation. It featured a couple work stations with computers and a large amount of shelves that were filled with all the paper logs and manuals required to operate the behemoth of an engine that propelled Amandine. It wasn’t really decorated in a particular manner, instead focussing on a very utilitarian aspect. Nevertheless, the crew had seen fit to decorate the walls with some motivational posters and playboy calendars; as well as one very necessary coffee machine. On one end of the room was a stairway that led even deeper in the bowels of the ship, to the control room.

That room was very different from its direct neighbour by being covered in control boards and monitors that showed every nook and cranny of the engine and the generators. Most of the panels lining the walls were colour-coded in a very specific manner so that the engineers would easily find the control overrides for each and every system required to operate the ship. One wall of the room sported a thick glass panel that overlooked the engine itself, and the central control computers were situated just in front of that window.

Beside the window was the access to the airlock that gave access to the engine room itself. It was the only access possible beside a ladder that ran inside the funnel. There were some racks for the hearing protectors they used to go down in the engine, each being equipped with a small radio so they could still communicate over the deafening noise of the engine. One object of note was a small board attached to the airlock’s door that indicated whether there was someone in the engine room or not.

Even through the bulkhead and with the engine shut down, you could still easily feel the vibrations from the generators. For now it was rather mild, and the ventilation kept up with the heat that was building up, but once the engine was on it would easily rise past 35 degrees Celsius on a cold day.

At the moment, all three officers were seated at the control stations with their headsets on, ready to receive the ‘go’ from the bridge and begin the procedure. Behind them, the ratings were standing, each of the four ready to go down in the engine for an intervention the moment their superiors gave the order, though Thanasis the sphinx didn’t expect to be able to do much at all.

“Bridge this is engine room, we are ready to begin start-up procedure, over” Schmitt, the Chief Officer, voiced through his mic.

“Engine room, this is the Second Officer on the bridge, all teams are in place to begin departure from anchorage. The teams on line today will be the Second Officer on bridge and the Third Officer on anchor winch, the Captain shall oversee but will NOT partake in the manoeuvre, over.” The voice of Micha rang out a couple seconds later through their headsets.

“Roger bridge, communications in engine room will be handled by the Chief Engineer today. Ready to begin procedure on your mark, do you have any further request, over?”

“Engine room this is anchor winch” Vadim’s voice came through the radio “We require that you start the deck cleaning pump too. Motive : we need to clean the anchor as we pull it up, over.”

“Engine room to anchor winch, that’s a wilco, over.” Schmitt answered, and then turned to one of the ratings behind him, a parrot. “Carlos, can you go down and open cleaning valve A? Leave it at 50% since he’s only using one hose I bet. We will start the pump once you’re done.”

“Aye sir.” The parrot nodded firmly and moved towards the airlock.

“Alright now,” Schmitt turned back to his console “What’s the pressure in the hydraulic circuit?”

“120 bars, steady.” Angelo answered after flicking through a few menus on his console.

“Raise that to 250 and check the pressure in the compressed air tank. We’re gonna start off with the steering.”

“Air tank is at full pressure, 300 bars ready to be used, all pipes are purged so we’ve got 5 or 6 starts before starting the compressor again” Aleksei, a female hippogriff and the third engineer, said.

“Good, now start feeding some pressure to the steering pumps, then we can try out the actuators’ response.” He paused to push the button on his mic. “Engine to bridge, we are beginning start up on the steering gear, shutting off your access to the helm for now, over.”

He barely paid any attention to the answer he got from the other end of the line. He was already busy activating the valves to deliver some pressure to the anchor winch. Remote control really was a boon to their operations. The dragon looked through the window down in the engine room.

“Say Aleksei, did you run some lubrication on the engine as usual?” He asked.

“Correct sir. Ran the crankshaft a couple times and checked it myself. All in order, self-lubrication circuit already running too.”

Carlos came back from the engine room and told them the valve was now open, so Angelo started the cleaning pump before telling the winch team their gear was ready.

“Steering pump has now reached working pressure and is holding steady” The minotaur beside Schmitt said “I went ahead and put the emergency power unit in standby too.” He added.

“Begin rudder response test and keep monitoring pressure in that part of the system.”

“Copy that” The minotaur replied as he took hold of a small wheel that looked awkwardly small in his large hands “Beginning test of the flaps in three, two, one,... now.” He said, with his eyes riveted to the screen in front of him.

Considering the ship was at anchor, the reaction on the heading was barely noticeable and quickly corrected by the current in any case.

“Flaps response time is in the green, no loss of pressure, proceeding to test of the main actuator.” Angelo intoned flatly.

This time, the ship moved a bit more when the engineer moved both rudders on either side of the vessel, but that was of little of little importance for them, only being an indication of the strong current present in these waters.

“Steering test clear, all green, ready to transfer helm control back to the bridge” Angelo announced his superior.

“Engine to bridge, steering gear ready to use, transferring control now. Proceeding with test of propeller pitch control, over.” With a gesture of his hand, the dragon Chief Engineer indicated to his colleague to begin the tests on the propellers.

While Angelo was busy with the props, Schmitt himself was switching on the pumps for the cooling circuits that kept the main engine from burning out. It was simply a matter of re-routing some water since the system was already running for the electric generators. On the other side of the minotaur, Aleksei was priming the fuel system and bringing fuel to the main engine, being careful to keep it at the right temperature lest the dense fuel start congealing in the pipes. The hippogriff ordered a rating behind them to go check the fuel mixture at the filter.

“Working pressure reached in both pitch control pumps, test done, both propellers are responding correctly to telegraph orders.”

“Switching pitch control to the bridge, now.” Angelo flicked a switch on his console. “How is it going with the main engine, Aleksei?” He questioned.

“Fuel temperature is good, pumps are primed and ready for a first start, got 2.5 bars built up on the fuel lines at the entry point.” The hippogriff frowned at his screen. “Hold on, can’t find the temperature gauge for the engine block... Ah, there it is, ready to go too, are the cooling lines ready?”

Schmitt finished opening the right valves for the fresh water circuit that came in direct contact with the engine.

“The seawater lines are ready for the heat exchanger but I’m still building pressure on the fresh lines, wait a moment, I need 5 more bars to get the right flow.”

While they were waiting for the last preparations before trying their first start of the engine, a rating came back and gave them the green light with the filter. Not that surprising since they had been replaced and cleaned recently.

If it weren’t for being transformed into mythical beings the procedure would be almost boring. Schmitt scratched the side of his snout distractedly with his claw. He had had to dull those to avoid scratching the many touch screens present in the control room, but they still made for some nifty tool when it came to relieving itches.

“Bridge to Engine, confirming that we have pitch and rudder control. Permission to set pitch to desired values? Over.” Micha asked over the intercom radio.

“Negative bridge; leave the propeller in neutral until you have full telegraph control.” Schmitt answered. He eyed the pressure on the cooling line. “We are about to start up the engine. Will tell you when you may use the pitch control. Over.”

The dragon then pulled out a folder from below his seat and gave his checklist a cursory look. Yeah, all details had been checked. He turned towards Thanasis and asked the sphinx to fetch him the Engine Log so that he could register having gone through the list before engaging the start.

Good thing is, if he gave the sphinx things to do, that should keep his morale up and make him feel like less of a burden due to his lack of hands.

A minute later, the rating was back with the folder held in his mouth. He passed it to his superior who filed the documents for the start before signing it.

“Alright, ready for start. Angelo, bring the camera for the funnel on screen, I want to see if the scrubbers are running correctly.”

The Chief Engineer then selected the control to engage the engine on his screen. The computer ran a quick check by itself before asking him if he wanted to proceed. He flicked the safety off of the start switch. His claw hovered over the command.

“Engine to bridge, starting engine in three... Two... One... Mark.” He turned the switch.

The ship rumbled as the massive pistons got into motion. The dragon slowly increased the throttle, his eyes switching between looking at the engine through the window and his screen where he had brought up the rpm indicators.

“Aleksei keep an eye on the fuel pumps; make sure we don’t starve the engine.”

“Fuel intake remains steady sir, looks like we’ve got the correct values for that rpm. Or close enough at least...” He adjusted the rpm on the pump. “There, stable. We were off by twenty rotations by minute on that one.”

“Good, you keep an eye on those for the rest of your watch.” He turned to his other engineer “Angelo, switch on the main engine’s generator, turn off both of the diesel gens but keep one in standby just in case.” He turned to the ratings. “Carlos, Thanasis, you’re with Angelo to inspect them after shutdown, got it?” They nodded. He pressed the button on his mic “Engine to bridge, we are now transferring control of the engine telegraph to you. Remark: limit changes in engine rpm and favour propeller pitch controls for changes in speed.” He paused. “We are experiencing moderate difficulties with fuel intake controls, changes in rpm run the risk of starving or choking the engine, warn the engine room before any significant change. Engine, out.”

He gave a quick glance at the funnel camera. No sign of a particularly bad combustion, and the colour indicated the scrubbers were running correctly.

“Bridge to engine, we are now in control of the manoeuvre. Thank you and have a good watch, out.”

“Excellent” Schmitt said out loud. He turned towards the two other ratings he hadn’t addressed yet. Nikola the gargoyle and John, a Filipino turned into a pastel yellow female hippogriff with dark red feathers. “You both, come with me, we’re going to the bow and get the bow thrusters ready for entry into port.”

Saying that, he stood up and walked off without waiting for their acknowledgment.

Up on the surface, a plume of smoke erupted from the funnel. Amandine was roaring to get back underway, and her Officers were all too happy to oblige. Vadim turned on the winch and the anchor chain started to be pulled back into the ship, passing through a strong stream of water that cleaned the sand and mud off of it, courtesy of the hose the Third Officer had set up beforehand.

Within minutes, a crewman was putting the brake in place on the winch and securing the anchor. Vadim signalled the bridge they were good to go with a wave of his claw, and Micha gunned the throttle. Below the surface, the propeller blades inclined themselves from their neutral position and started pushing on the water.

Amandine veered on a southerly course and passed between the buoys marking the limits of the anchorage as well as the access to the safe dredged channel that avoided the potentially hazardous sandbanks littering the area. There was a strong tidal current of about 4 knots if the instruments were to be believed, but it was nothing against the powerful engine of the modern vessel that cut through the waves with little to no difficulty.

Up on the bridge, Micha allowed a smile to grace his features. It always felt amazing to him, directing such a colossus of a vessel. The female griffon ordered the helmsman (Boris the russian griffon in this case) to alter course eastward after they passed a buoy. They were now well and truly engaged in the channel, and would reach port in as little as two hours.

Even though they were out of visual range of the shore at the moment, Micha could see its outline appearing on the radar, which also showed the wind farms North-East of Amandine. The GPS was still giving them an accurate position, so there was no cause of worry about that; but the receiver for maritime transponders (the AIS) failed to pick up any signal, nor did the radio.

They still were alone in those waters. Not a single ship or coast station active. All there was beside them were seagulls and seals. He sighed.

Better hope searching the port yielded better results.

An hour later, the boat team assembled on the poop deck. Amandine was approaching the last track of her passage before entering port and they all had a couple minutes left to run the last checks on the system before dropping off the boat and sailing ahead.

The team was made up of Danny, a Filipino turned into a female parrot (a golden parakeet to be precise) as the boat’s pilot, Boris the Russian griffon and Ioan, the youngest rating on board, now a blue-grey gargoyle with a black mane.

Vadim was inspecting each of them for flaws in their gear before allowing them to board the boat. Each was outfitted with an inflatable life jacket harness, for which the CO₂ cartridges had been thoroughly inspected beforehand.

The Third Officer handed Boris a walkie-talkie fitted with a headset.

“Alright, all checks are done, painter line in place, crew gear ready. Boris, you remember which quay we’re aiming for right?”

“That I do, berthing place 1, a ro-ro terminal, can’t miss it since it’s next to the leading lights.” The griffon tapped a pocket on the breast of his sea vest “In any case I noted it on my chart of the port. We still have no contact with port control?”

“Negative” Vadim shook his head “The entry lights are green, but the radio isn’t active. Try to look for signs of activity if you can, but don’t take risks... We don’t really know what happened, so it could be risky. Did Alejandro give you our little secret yet?” He asked his question at a barely audible volume, just loud enough that only the other griffon could hear him.

The Officer was referring to the captain’s revolver, a .38 caliber that was usually kept safely in the ship’s vault in case of emergencies. Having it worn by a crewmember entering a port was, of course, highly illegal, but after much discussion between the officers, they had deemed it necessary that the line handlers be armed.

The rest of the boat crew didn’t actually know about the revolver hidden in a holster beneath Boris’ coveralls. For all intents and purposes, they were only packing a taser (carried by Danny) and some pepper spray, which would already be considered a bit much in normal circumstances. Having a gun on board in European waters at all would raise eyebrows in the industry. Fortunately, Captain Prateek was particularly adept at gaining favours with harbour authorities.

Boris gave his superior a firm nod and secured his headset on his head before putting on his helmet.

“Just so we’re clear, that wasn’t my idea to get in a highly secure port which includes a chemical terminal as well as a navy base with a concealed weapon, got it?” He told Vadim “That’s just a shit idea and I really don’t intend to go around pumping people full of lead.”

“Yeah but if we what we expect with the lack of activity is correct, then the situation could be dangerous and potentially lethal.”

“Sure you think it’s gone all apocalypse-like ashore, I get it.” The Russian said “And I trust you with that” Vadim gave him a doubtful look “Really I mean, but on the chance that you’re wrong, need I remind you of how the local law enforcement has been since all the terror attacks recently? And how do you think they would react to a Russian citizen” He pointed a claw to himself for emphasis “Strolling in one of their ports packing a concealed gun?”

“Badly, I know, and we will back you up if shit goes down. But we’d rather you have it and don’t need it than the alternative.” He pointed in the direction of the approaching port, still just a speck on the horizon (which, by the way, they could see in a very detailed way, those griffon eyes weren’t so bad) “Plus, do you see any kind of movement over there? We checked, their radar tower isn’t even on.”

Boris muttered something in Russian under his breath.

“It’s fine, I didn’t say I wouldn’t do it, just that I didn’t like it, got the difference, sir?” He said.

“Good.” The Ukrainian concluded before grabbing his radio. “Bridge, this is boat davit, how long until we reach the drop off point? Over.” He asked.

“Bridge to davit, twenty minutes to drop off. Are all checks done and the boat crew ready? Over.” Micha asked over the radio.

“Davit to bridge, davit controls are manned by yours truly, the crew is geared up and ready, painter line in place, awaiting authorisation to swivel the davit and have the crew board the craft, over.” He answered. Now to play the waiting game.

And right on cue, twenty minutes later, when they were much closer to the port, Micha gave them the authorisation to deploy the fast rescue boat.

Amandine slowed her speed down to about 6 knots and altered course ever so slightly so that the boat would be dropped off on the lee side.

With the crane that acted as the davit, Vadim lifted the boat off its rack and lowered it next to the railing. The boat crew mounted their craft, and Boris gave Vadim the thumbs up (claw up? Eh, why did he even bother thinking about changing those expressions...) to lower it.

A griffon crewmember signalled him when to halt the crane. He looked over the railing to see Danny going through the last checks and testing out the engine. The parrot signalled him, he was ready to deploy.

A single press on the crane control dropped the boat the rest of the way to the water. The automatic release hook did its job and, after untying the painter line, Danny gunned the engine and left Amandine behind on his way to the port.

“Amandine fast rescue boat to Amandine, boat deployed, you are clear to resume your initial course and speed, FRB out.” Boris said over the radio.

“Amandine to FRB, roger and good luck, over.” Micha answered before applying more pitch to the propellers, pushing Amandine back to her initial approach speed of 10 knots.

Up on the bridge, Micha was discussing how they would go about their manoeuvre with the Captain. Next to them, Geert was listening intently, interested in finding out about a possibly new technique.

About 5 cables before the ship passed the breakwater, Micha ordered the helmsman to decrease speed by half. If he wanted the manoeuvre to work correctly, they would need to exploit the whirlpool situated right on the entrance into the port.

He checked the controls for the bow thrusters. It would be needed too, because he wanted to turn the ship fast enough that her inertia would carry her stern first out of the whirlpool and towards their berthing place without having to give much in the way of reverse thrust. He was feeling confident; the Captain had been made aware of the intended manoeuvre and approved it, now it was just a matter of putting it into action.

“One cable to breakwater” The helmsman intoned.

Micha braced himself on his console with one claw hovering over the bow thrust control. Moment of truth, he thought, making port entry without the compulsory tugboats. He eyed the edges of the breakwater. Three, two...

“Starboard 15. Full ahead on port prop, full astern on starboard prop.” He ordered sharply.

The helmsman repeated his order and the ship began swinging within seconds with a delicate application of bursts from the bow thrusters.

The griffon officer kept a close eye on the ship’s heading and the quays beside them. When the ship turned sufficiently, he ordered the rudders back to midship and both propellers on a backward pitch. They still had a couple degrees to turn but the inertia carried the ship the rest of the way, with just a small overshoot that he was quick to correct with some push from the bow.

A quick glance at the chart screen told him they were on the exact planned track. Perfect. He told the helmsman to release his control over the wheel, now was the time to move to the port bridge wing and oversee the more delicate part of the approach.

Right beside him, the Captain was looking around with a frown. Micha might have missed it because he was busy with his manoeuvre, but he paid a close attention to the state of the port. And it was... odd.

For one there was almost no ship present in port, and all those that he could see were clearly inactive and devoid of any personnel. Those were all smaller vessels which weren’t always manned like tugs and supply barges. And some old minehunters in the navy section of the port too, he noted.

So all of the vessels that saw continuous activity had disappeared.

Furthermore, the quays too were bereft of activity. Not a single soul to be seen. Nada, zilch. The only presence was the orange specks next to their destination, the boat team. At least these guys had found their way to the quay, and remembered not to park in Amandine’s spot. That would have been amusing to explain on the radio, the dog thought.

Dilip observed his subordinate carefully guide the thirty-four thousand tons ship towards the pier. Stressed as he might be, the griffon was doing a good job. He didn’t understand why he always got so worked up over manoeuvring if he could do it correctly like he was doing now. Particularly considering how he always stuck to procedures like glue.

Actually the... uniqueness of this approach might be why his Second Officer was behaving like that, what with it straying away from normal procedures.

The ship was now a dozen meters away from the quay, moving at a crawl towards the shore. On either end of the ship, Alejandro and Vadim were directing the line handlers to their positions.

Micha brought Amandine parallel to the quay, and just far enough from the end of the pier that they could make use of the stern ramp. The Second Officer put the rudders in position for a transverse thrust and started gunning the throttle in short burst. Combined with the bow thrusters, it slowly began to push the ship the rest of the way.

With a very soft thud, Amandine gently came to a rest against the berth’s rubber fenders. From his position next to Micha, Dilip observed the lines being tossed ashore and hauled to the bits, ensuring the ship would be held tightly in place.

The operation, Dilip was glad to see, only took the crew a few minutes before all lines were in place and secured.

Not bad for a crew that was dealing with a loss of humanity. He gave Micha a soft tap on the shoulder and congratulated him on a job well done before making contact with the engine room via the intercom. He told them to switch over to the diesel generators again and to prep the stern ramp for opening. They weren’t going to open it yet, but he wanted it ready ASAP.

He checked his watch. 18.50. The sun was still high up in the sky.

On the poop deck, some crewmembers deployed the pilot ladder to allow the line handlers back on board. All were felicitated for a job well done; and Boris passed by the bridge to give back his gear (and the revolver, which he discreetly slipped to Micha when the rest of the boat crew wasn’t looking).

“Anything left to do, sir?” His Second Officer asked him.

“Did Boris secure the FRB?”

“Aye” Micha twirled a set of keys in his claws “Got the keys over there, as for the boat; it’s moored and hidden under a tarp on the other side of the car terminal.”

“Very well, take the keys and the... you-know-what back to the vault. Remember to unload it too.” The Indian dog checked his watch “Have the crew gathered in the cafeteria by 20.15, I need to make an announcement.”

“Understood Captain, do you wish to have dinner delivered to your quarters?”

“Negative” He shook his head. “I need to think for a bit. I will do the shutdown procedure for the instruments myself. Just go and enjoy your meal.” He said, waving his paw vaguely.

The younger griffon departed with an enthusiastic ‘thank you cap’ain!’, leaving the old captain to his thoughts.

The Captain walked over to the port bridge wing, enjoying the feel of a soft breeze on his fur. He leaned over the railing and levelled his gaze towards the other side of the harbour.

There was a lit window in one of the buildings on the navy base.

Author's Note

Looks like I finally brought the ship to port, that took a lot longer than expected, but now the pace should pick up somewhat.
For the engine startup procedure, please take it with a pinch of salt, I'm a deck guy, not an engineer.
Here's a drawing of Amandine's route in this chapter
And here is a link to Amandine's crew list, and the data sheet I have for her.

Chapter 8: Welcome to Zeebrugge

Geert was sitting on his own at a table in the cafeteria, lazily poking at his food with a fork. Someone pulled at the chair on his left and set down.

“Looking kinda glum here De Vries, what’s on your mind?” Vadim asked, soon joined by Micha on the other side of the table.

“Dunno really…” The parrot shrugged “Voyage’s over and that means I got my promotion. It’s just… you got a look at port too?” He viciously stabbed a vegetable with his fork “I know it’s not the Netherlands but still… Leaves me little hope for what I might find back home you know?”

“How close are we from your home exactly?” Micha questioned him.

“I was born in Groningen, but I live in Vlissingen now, on the Scheldt estuary. That’s twenty to thirty nautical miles from here.”

“You know we can’t really tell that everybody disappeared. For all we know they moved inland.” Vadim tried.

“Sure” Geert rolled his eyes “And while they were at it they hauled all the merchant vessels and some of the navy vessels inland while they were at it” He scoffed “Makes perfect sense”

“Still better than settling for the fact that an entire population could vaporize overnight.” Micha countered.

Geert slammed a claw on the table and glared at the two Officers.

“For fuck sake can’t you two get it? Everybody but us is just fucking GONE!” He yelled “I used the Satcom to connect to the Internet earlier. You know how some sites register their traffic? Guess what then? I got a look, and all the users they’ve had recently were bots, AI and algorithms. Not a single verdomme human user.” He made a cutting motion with his arm “It’s just US now.”

He closed his eyes and held his head in his claws, before letting out a long sigh.

“Sorry, that was unbecoming of me. I’m a bit… antsy at the prospect of winding up alone on the shore now that my contract here’s ended.”

“That needed to come out at some point.” Vadim paused to take a bite of his meal “No trouble on my part.” He glanced at Micha “You?”

“It’s fine, I get it too.” He waved a claw dismissively “Have you brought it up with the Captain yet?”

“Nah” Geert shook his head “It’s only now when I saw the state of the harbor that I’ve come to realize how bad the situation really is.” He looked at them “But how can you be okay with that?”

“Self brewed coping mechanism.” Vadim answered flatly.

“I beg your pardon?” Geert cocked his head.

Vadim twisted a bit to open the breast pocket of his coveralls and pulled out a flask covered in an ugly looking tartan canvas.

“We’ve got a deal with Aleksei and Angelo in engineering. With some of the guys in engineering they’ve rigged an alembic to the cooling system of the main engine. The Chiefs are kind enough to look the other way provided they’re not too… thirsty.” Micha commented before motioning with his head towards Vadim “And our friend over there likes to think of himself as a master brewer since he ‘invented’ a particularly potent blend of booze.”

“The Belvedere I gave you yesterday? Might as well be considered water compared to the shit that comes out of the alembic.” Vadim boasted.

“And that keeps you from panicking?” Geert snorted “Yeah, right.”

Vadim waved the flask in front of the Dutchman.

“Won’t believe it ‘til you try it, want some?”

Geert didn’t bother giving an answer to that question and just swiped the flask from Vadim’s hand before taking a swig. The liquid burned its way down his throat and he had to hold back an awkward cough.

“Jezus Vadim, the fuck did you make that with? Antifreeze?”

“A spoonful, among other things.” The Ukrainian joked. “Still, feel better now?”

“If by that you mean if the third degree burns in my throat make me forget about my otherwise shitty situation, then yes, thank you for your Slav fuckery.” Geert rasped.

“Eh, it ain’t dumb as long as it works. Now give that back I need a swig myself.”

The parrot eagerly passed the flask back to its owner. He stroked his long neck as he watched the Ukrainian down the rest of the content in one go, the burning sensation now replaced by a dull throbbing in his throat. Micha turned to him with a questioning look.

“Still, given the chance, would you rather stay on board or strike out on your own?”

“Given what I’ve seen today? I’m not a solitary type, if I know I’m not going to find anyone ashore, I’d rather stay. Why the question? I thought that was kinda clear on my part.”

“It’s mostly because of Alejandro. He told me how they had a meeting with the Captain yesterday in the lounge. They want to ‘survey’ so to speak, those of the crew who might want to leave.”

“That bad uh?”

“Not from my point of view. I asked around for a bit during breakfast. Didn’t see any Officer that wanted to leave that’s for sure. And the deck guys, well, not really either. We might be on the right continent, but you are the only guy who is actually close to his home.” Micha took a sip from a can of soda before resuming. “Maybe if we were closer to their homes they’d take the chance, but we’re still way too far. The port being deserted doesn’t help either.”

“You think the Captain’s making a mountain of a molehill then?”

“I’m not pretending I’m right about this. People do want to go home, but I don’t think anybody would leave the group to venture into the unknown quite so soon.”

“But you think it’s going to pop up somewhere down the line?”

“That is correct.” Micha nodded.

“Would you leave the ship?”

“No” Micha answered “Not in those conditions at least. Poland’s too far from here, if I were to try, then that would be a one-shot, in a certain manner. What happens if you leave, go home and nobody’s there to greet you? Only reason I’d have to take the chance is if we’re close enough that I can make it back to the ship if I don’t find anybody. Wouldn’t want to wind up stranded, you know?”

“Makes sense” Geert nodded, before resuming his eating.

A minute later, they were joined at the table by the ship’s sole minotaur.

“Hey guys, I just had a talk with Roberto and you won’t believe what he told me.” Angelo said as he sat down.

“And that would be?” Vadim inquired.

“Well that mad lad of a cadet was straight up googgling furries from the bridge computer yesterday. Crazy init?”

Geert shrank down in his seat.

“Say, Angelo, have you read the new crew list? The one with the species on it?” Micha asked the engineer.

“Haven’t memorized it yet.”

“Hold on a sec’ then.” Micha shoved a claw down his pocket. “Here, take a look.” He passed him the list. “Now, last row, look at the specie of the cadet.”

The minotaur frowned at the sheet of paper.

“It says ‘parrot’ right there.” He said.

Micha grabbed the minotaur’s muzzle and pulled it in Geert’s direction. His eye ridges rose.

“Oh…”

“Oh indeed Angelo.”

A few moments later, the Captain strode in the cafeteria, clad in his dress uniform. Talks ground to a halt as he made his way to the center of the room. He swept the room with his eyes, ensuring that everyone was paying attention.

“Gentlemen, I have come to deliver you all a choice.” He began. “As many of you are probably aware by now, the port we are berthed in turned to be as deserted as the anchorage, and while I have suspicions of activity present in the vicinity” Some people raised their heads at that “It is clearly not to the extent that is considered usual for the port of Zeebrugge. There is a high likelihood of that state of affairs extending to the rest of the continent, if the clues we have gained from observing Internet traffic are to be believed.” He paused to evaluate the crowd’s reaction. All were still paying attention.

“But that is conclusion many of you have reached, whether you are willing to admit it or not. What, I believe, matters the most to you at the moment is the state of your families and those you left behind at the beginning of your work here. To assist with that issue, I have decided to allow everyone free use of this ship’s telecommunication equipment for those who may want to attempt reaching their families, be it radio, phone, or even satellite communications. I will even encourage it, as it may give us further clues regarding human activity.”

“Furthermore, I need to remind you all that you are not under any obligation to remain on this vessel. While we all currently have a contract with the company, it is quite clear that without any contact with them, I will be unable to deliver your due wages, for which I wish to extend you my excuses.” He gave the room a cursory look; they didn’t seem to react too badly to that announcement.

“I expect that some of you will want to leave the vessel to go see their families, particularly the European members of this crew who are within reach of their home countries. It is not within the scope of my powers as the Captain of this vessel to stop you, you are free to leave if you so desire. I only wish to ask you to meet me in my quarters this evening so we can discuss the terms of your departure. Due wages will be paid out of the vault’s cash supply for those who terminate their work on this ship. Any complaint regarding the way the compensations are handled may be taken to the Union representative.” He gestured towards Artyom who was sitting with Boris in a corner of the room.

“I will conclude this little speech with an appeal to everyone present. I understand everyone’s worry about their families and sympathize with it; I myself have a wife and kids, grown up as they are, back home in Mumbai. I still believe it as being too hazardous to depart from this crew on your own across Europe to attempt to find people that may not even be there. We are stronger together and we will need everyone we can to face this crisis. So… please, consider your decision for a bit before coming to my office.”

The dog pulled at his tie for a bit, looking at the crew assembled around him. He gave a soft nod in Artyom’s direction.

“Thank you for your attention. I will be in my quarters.”

Dilip walked off to leave the assembled crewmen to their thoughts. Once he passed the doors, the entire cafeteria erupted into whispers. Some started to make their way towards Artyom, who was starting to seriously question his own choice of being unionized.

On the other end of the room, Geert stood up and strode towards the door. Now would be the best moment to address the Captain before he got swarmed by inquisitive sailors.

Geert walked up the stairs to deck B, the one where the Captain’s quarters were situated. He would have changed into his dress uniform if he could, but unlike the Captain’s, his still needed to be adapted to his new form. Considering how much he trusted his sewing abilities and the cost of said uniform (even though he bought it second-hand), he wasn’t particularly interested in trying.

He had gone back to his cabin (a rating’s room, a tad smaller than the type given to officers without the desk, and with a bathroom shared with the cabin next to it) to fetch some documents, including a copy of his work contract.

The parrot gave his coveralls one last inspection. Going to the Captain’s quarters with a dirty or damaged uniform would be… less than ideal. He smoothed out some wrinkles with the back of his claws and ensured his crest of feathers wasn’t too messy.

Recently he had developed a keen awareness for his appearance, always being particularly conscious of how he looked, in particular when it came to his feathers.

He couldn’t put his talon on which was responsible, the change in gender or the change in specie. Perhaps both.

Geert shook his head. Now was not the time to get lost in thought. He knocked on the door to the Captain’s quarters.

Dilip was quick to open the door and let the now former cadet inside, gently motioning him towards a desk with a soft greeting.

Geert appraised his surroundings. He was in the ‘office’ part of the quarters, this being the first room visitors would find themselves in upon entering. Opposite to him was a door leading to the Captain’s cabin proper.

It was a rather large room, visibly designed with two distinct parts in mind. One half of the room, the one that was adjacent to the exterior of the ship, was used as the Captain’s office with a desk, some office equipment like a printer, a server rack and some filing cabinets. The desk itself was a large piece of furniture made out of lavishly carved cherry wood with a slab of crème-colored marble on the top. The desk was laden with piles upon piles of documents, with the only real personal touch being a framed photo of what Geert expected to be the Captain’s family. Around the desk were three chairs, two small wooden chairs for visitors, and a heavy looking leather office chair for the Captain. Directly behind the desk was a porthole which let some natural light in the room.

The other half of the room was a sort of meeting room, with two couches on either side of the room surrounding a coffee table. Above the table, someone had attached a projector to the roof, which pointed to a white board on the wall. The coffee table also had a transparent side, which showed the Captain’s collection of high-value liquors.

Generally speaking, the room had an appearance similar to the rest of the accommodation with the lower part of the walls being covered in wood. The most notable difference being that the color was dark blue instead of burgundy. As for the decorations, Geert took note of some plastic fichus trees in the corners of the room and various framed pictures hanging on the walls.

The Captain ushered the Dutchman to take a seat at the desk and offered him a glass of liquor, which he politely declined.

Dilip sat down and took a moment to make some room on his desk, pushing the documents out of the way before facing his subordinate.

“Sorry about the mess on the desk, I didn’t expect anybody to turn up here so quick. Now,” He pulled out a folder from the pile he had pushed aside “I got your documents here, cadet contract, completed review of your performances and a recommendation, the usual fare. It’s been a pleasure to have you on this crew…”

Geert politely raised a claw to halt his superior.

“With all due respect sir, it’s actually the opposite. I wish to extend the duration of my work on board of your vessel.”

Dilip cocked his head, looking just a tiny bit confused.

“Are you sure certain of your choice? While I do appreciate you choosing to stick with us, I also know you are within an hour by car from your home. You are literally on your doorstep.”

“I am aware of that fact, yes. But… upon seeing the state of the harbor, I cannot reason that I would wish to see what awaits me at home. I find the prospect of continuing to work here to be safer than being on my own.”

“I am glad to hear that De Vries, under normal circumstances I wouldn’t expect someone with credentials like yours to stay on board.” He pulled out Geert’s CV from the pile before tapping it with a digit for emphasis. “Licensing in polar navigation, licensing in direct positioning system, certifications for the carriage of volatile compounds and chemicals. I’m leaving some out, but you’re clearly made for another kind of ship if it comes to work beyond that of a cadet.”

“Does that mean you do not accept my request?” Geert leaned forward in his seat, seemingly worried.

“Certainly not, I’m just ensuring you are made aware of the… specificities, so to speak, that our current situation may entail. You’re currently very close to your home, and this is a chance you may not get twice. The likelihood of us leaving the North Sea area in the future is very real, as I do not know where this crisis may lead us. Work will also be very different for you now that you have enough time at sea to validate your certifications. If you are to stay on this ship, I will expect the same work from you as I do from the rest of the officers. Understood?”

“Yes Captain.”

“Good, I will ask Roberto to make you a new contract tomorrow. Just… don’t expect much in the way of wages. If you already have your Third Officer ranks, you may apply them to your uniforms. You may also go see Farkas and ask him for a cabin more befitting of your station. All officer cabins are taken, but let him know I now allow the use of the VIP cabins. Should be similar enough, and it’s on the right deck. I will personally tell Alejandro so that he assigns you some duties.”

The Indian dog’s ears swiveled on the top of his head, pointing towards the door.

“Sounds like the next guy is already here. Is there anything else you wanted to discuss?”

Geert shook his head and stood up. He shook the Captain’s paw and made his way to the door. Before he could open it, Dilip gave him his thanks for staying.

“You know, I was worried too many people would start leaving… but if you of all people want to stay, even this close to your home, then that’s a good sign.”

Geert replied with a nod and left. In the hallway, he saw Nikola, the gargoyle from engineering. He recalled the Bulgarian had a rather large family back home, which would explain why he was visiting the Captain now.

But prying into people’s lives was none of his business, so he just went on with his life.

The ratings kept watch this evening so that left him a lot of free time. Geert went down to his cabin to get changed. Now would be the right time to hit the gym and blow off some steam.

The sun went down and up again, and Amandine’s crew soon found themselves gathered next to the stern ramp the following morning.

Off to the side, Alejandro was giving the ramp controls on last inspection before their opening, with the assistance of one white furred dog deck rating.

Many of the assembled people took note that the youngest of them, a gargoyle called Ioan, was now heavily laden with bags. The 20-year-old gargoyle was having a heated talk with some of his friends from the crew, but it was pretty clear what his intent was. Some were starting to exchange curious whispers about it, but somebody had yet to approach the gargoyle’s group.

At long last, the Captain arrived with a clipboard under his arm and a satchel slung around his shoulder. He still was dressed in his shirt and cargo shorts, but he seemed to have spared some time to brush his fur. He was followed by Micha, who was carrying a large canvas bag across his back.

“Gentlemen, may I have your attention?” Dilip said.

All conversations ceased at once upon hearing their Captain speak up.

“Good, I hope everybody had a restful night, even those who had watch duties. Today marks our first day in port, and I intend to make the best use possible of our time here. But first, it is now time for us to say goodbye to one of our crewmembers.” He looked around the crowd for a moment. “Ioan Mircea, can you please come forward.”

The young gargoyle adjusted the straps on his bags and stepped forward to meet Dilip.

“Ioan, it has been a pleasure to have you on this crew and I hope you don’t regret working here either. I wish you the best of luck finding your family, where are you going again?”

“To Constanta sir, on the shores of the Black Sea.”

“It’s a long road ahead of you, be on the lookout for dangers. We don’t know what’s out there. I won’t ask how you’re going to get a vehicle and fuel, but remember: most fuel stations have a manual override; it’s just a matter of finding it. I trust you have bid farewell to everyone?”

The young Romanian was obviously rather stressed, but managed to compose himself and give the Captain a sharp nod as an answer.

“Perfect.” Dilip continued; then he shrugged off his satchel and handed it to the departing crewmember “In this satchel you will find all of your due wages, in Euros, bills of twenty only. I also added a satellite phone with some spare batteries as a parting gift. It’s got some contacts in its memory, with Amandine among others.”

Ioan accepted it with a quiet ‘thank you’, attaching the satchel to his large travel bag. He stared at the Captain for a few awkward seconds, before presenting his open clawed hand to his now former superior.

Dilip gave him a strong handshake, a pained smile gracing his muzzle.

“Good luck and fair seas Captain.”

“And fair roads to you, friend.” He turned his head to the side. “Alejandro!” He barked. “Time to open the ramp!”

The blue parrot replied by giving Dilip the thumbs up and activated the controls of the ship’s massive stern ramp. The gigantic contraption swung outwards slowly, its descent carefully controlled by the Officer manning the commands. Two powerful winches unwounded their coils under Alejandro’s careful scrutiny, before settling the ramp on the quay with a dull thud.

“Està abierto” The Spaniard commented as he shut down the controls, no need to keep them on if all that could lead to is accidentally raise the ramp.

The ramp opened up to a large trailer yard that extended for a large distance behind Amandine. One end of the yard was occupied by parked lorries and towing vehicles left there between two loading operations, the rest of the place being used up by rows upon rows of trailers of various types. Some rows were even outfitted with electrical outlets to recharge refrigerated trailers.

Off in the distance, there were two buildings poking out of the sea of trailers. One was the customs office, which led to the exit, and another was the terminal’s offices. Ioan was already making his way towards those, because he knew it was there he would find the keys needed to open the cars awaiting exportation that could be found in an adjacent parking lot.

To the assembled sailors, the sight that awaited them in front of the ramp was rather eerie. While the usual seagulls could be heard in the distance, the harbor was still almost silent, and utterly desert of activity.

That terminal in particular was supposed to be the busiest of the entire port, but the bustling activity that was to be expected in this place was just… absent. Gone was the noise of hundreds of trucks awaiting transport across the channel, the bickering between officials negotiating on ship loads, the ever present customs patrols… Now it was just less than thirty crewmen staring out the back end of their ship with their mouths agape.

Ioan stopped at the end of the ramp and gave them all one last look over his shoulder. Some waved at him one last time, before he turned his head forward and strode on towards his goal. Within minutes, his orange-clothed silhouette had disappeared around a turn in the maze-like yard.

Dilip gave a polite cough to get their attention. They focused their attention back to him.

“Let’s hope our young colleague does find his family eventually. But we must not forget ourselves either, for there is much we have to do.” Dilip looked around the crowd and motioned for Artyom to come forward.

“I have made a list of tasks that need to be taken care of around the port, for the boatswain to distribute as he sees fit.” He handed his clipboard to the approaching Russian dragon.

“This list includes surveying the area for potential activity, as well as salvaging equipment around the area for our own use. That includes vehicles, fuel, supplies and equipment. Certain tasks will require specialized personnel to take care of them. I have added specific notes for those, and I also have already picked some of you for specific tasks. Notably…”

Dilip gestured towards De Vries who was standing at the back of the crowd. The tall parrot had already added the new ranks on his uniform.

“I have decided that the party sent to look for activity will be led by our newest officer. That is correct gentlemen, our cadet has been promoted. He met with me yesterday and manifested the intent of staying as part of our crew. Will everyone please give a round of applause to Fourth Officer De Vries, may he become an integral part of this vessel.”

While obviously surprised at the news, the crewmembers were visibly happy to discover that the cadet that had had a very good impression with them would get to stay. Dilip had to gesture to them to cease clapping after a moment to get on with his speech. At least Geert seemed to preen under the attention, not that it wasn’t deserved.

“Now, considering he speaks the local tongue, I saw fit to assign De Vries to the survey party. Other parties sent around include an engineering party that will have to go ensure that the chemicals terminal is in a stable state and doesn’t run a risk of leaking or worse, exploding. I also need a salvaging party that may go around the trailer yards and container yards. Exploring the city may be a good idea too if we can get something from the shops and warehouses. Due to his knowledge of our logistical status, Chief Steward Farkas will lead that party.” Dilip paused a few seconds to catch his breath and let in sink in. Nobody seemed to have any question so far.

“At last, I need a party to go retrieve a fuel barge from the depot and resupply us in diesel and heavy fuel oil. This party will need to be mixed between engineering and deck crewmembers for obvious reasons. Remember to be careful with that, as using the barge may involve getting across a couple locks.”

Whether he was talking about floodgates or padlocks, nobody knew.

“I will remind you that the ship will need to be kept under watch. Ensure a sufficient amount of personnel remains on board to manage security and keep an eye on the generators. That is all, any question?”

A hippogriff raised his claw at the front of the crowd, and the Captain motioned for him to ask away.

“Sir, are we allowed to use security equipment from the vault?”

“Non-lethal weaponry will be handed out for use, pepper spray and telescopic batons. The tasers are to stay on the ship however.”

“What about the other weaponry sir?”

Dilip raised his eye ridge in surprise.

“Cat’s out of the bag already?”

“Boris spilled it yesterday.” The guy admitted, glancing at the griffon in question “In his defense that actually involved more alcohol than usual.”

The Captain leveled a hard stare at Boris, who had the wisdom to at least look sheepish about his slip of the tongue. He had expected the info to leak eventually, but not that fast. Still, the Russian had been within his rights to reveal it, and Dilip himself had allowed them to consume alcohol that night. He sighed, one mistake that was all too quick to bite him in the ass.

Didn’t stop him from subtly asking Artyom to load the guy with extra duties though.

“Very well, we do have a revolver on board. I allowed it to be issued yesterday to the boat team in case of an incident. Now that we have had the occasion to get a better appraisal of the situation, I have judged that there is nothing that warrants its use as of now.” He looked towards the Hippogriff that had asked the question, remembering he was called Yuri, a Ukrainian. “The keys to rapidly access the weapon will be given to those keeping watch on the ship however. Does that answer your question?”

The hippogriff acquiesced, and since nobody else had any question, that settled Dilip’s speech. He wished all the gathered people good luck in their search before retreating to his quarters.

A rather successful beginning for the day, considering how many crewmen he had managed to convince to stay.

A parrot, a dog, and a sphinx walked down the road.

A bad joke in some circles, a very real situation for Geert, he mused, adjusting the backpack on his shoulder to accommodate for the walkie-talkie strapped across his chest. Alejandro had let him choose two companions for his surveying team, and he had chosen Rahul the Chief Cook (who wanted to get away from his kitchen for once) and Mohammed, a Tunisian sphinx who had gone from being rather cheerful before the transformation, to being a lot more cynical.

Rahul and him had chosen to make use of the sphinx’s impressive strength to carry most of the heavier tools they had grabbed on the ship, including a pair of heavy duty bolt cutters, and spare batteries for the radio (duh, those things always run out).

Now, both the dog and the parrot were cracking jokes to coax the Tunisian out of his shell, with Geert glancing sporadically at his map to make sure they were headed in the right direction.

“Hey Mohammed, you know what’s great about Switzerland?”

“No clue” The sphinx replied.

“Dunno either, but the flag is a big plus I’d say.”

He couldn’t really say he had a particularly great repertoire when it came to bad jokes though, so he might have thrown himself in a vain battle.

On a brighter note, they were getting close to their destination: the marina part of the port. It was the first place he wanted to check out because it was at the crossroads of the town itself, the fishing port, a cruise terminal, and the navy base (which they had been told to inspect too).

“Look guys” Mohammed began “I appreciate you guys helping me, but I have my own reasons for being pissed off, and you both really are trying too hard. It’s getting on my nerves. Besides shouldn’t you be looking at the road?”

“Okay, stopping now.” The parrot raised his claws defensively. “And no, it’s not like we’re going anywhere real fast at walking pace. And I’m not going to accelerate any time soon since I’m barefoot unless you forgot.” He pointed at his own clawed feet for emphasis.

“And I too, am barefoot, birdbrain.”

“True but you got four of those now, I’m stuck with two and I don’t want to go any lower on that count because I stepped on broken glass.”

“Eh, I actually have an excuse for not having shoes, it’s not like I can make them with no hands. What’s yours?”

“Need leather and Kevlar, couldn’t find materials, so stuck on standby. By the way, how are the shoes Rahul?”

“Feels like wearing Prada.” The dog fired back, wryly. “How far to the marina?”

“500 meters, it’s on the other side of that drawbridge.” Geert said, indicating a bridge built over a lock separating the harbor from inland canals.

After passing the bridge, the three sailors came to a crossroad with the marina on their right. They could see the masts from the sailboats left there by their owners, as well as a couple small-sized fishing boats moored close to some closed down market stalls. Nothing out of place for a seafront.

Except the attack submarine berthed in front of them that is. One with a soviet flag draped over her bow.

“So, I would think the navy guys next door ran out of parking space at some point and stole a spot in the marina, but that wouldn’t explain the flag. Belgium is a NATO country, right?” Mohammed asked.

“Beats me.” Geert shrugged. “I’ve had these Belgians for neighbor my entire life and they still manage to pull crazy shit like that. Not the first thing in that country that wouldn’t make any sense.”

“That bad, uh?”

“Don’t get me started, it’s like they pull stuff like that on purpose just to fuck with people.”

Rahul just pulled out his phone and took a picture of the sub.

“Crazy Belgians or not, does it really matter? It’s not like it impacts us in any way.” The dog said.

“Yeah let’s keep going. Still weird though. You want to try out any place around here first?”

“Well, we can cross out the passenger terminal, we passed it and it was as desert as the Sahara” Mohammed commented. “You guys feel like breaking in a military installation?”

“Eh, at least even if we don’t find shit it ought to be entertaining.” Geert said. “Let’s do that.” He looked at his chart before pointing towards the North. “That way.”

“You two really think getting in is going to be that easy?” Rahul said incredulously.

“Please Rahul” Geert retorted with a roll of his eyes “It’s the Belgians we are talking about. If anything I would expect them to leave the door open.”

“You seem to hold a grudge against Belgium.”

“Football related, don’t pry.”

Before Rahul could build on that comment, Mohammed called out to them from next to the quays.

“Hey guys, you seeing this too?” He directed their attention towards some burn marks a hundred meters away from them, close to the market.

“I see it.” Rahul squinted “Looks like a lightning strike, but there wasn’t any storm recently, and it wouldn’t hit there either.”

“Let’s take a look.” Geert said.

Upon approaching the mark, all three sailors recoiled at the pungent scent permeating the area. The smell reminded them of rotting fruit mixed with fresh mud, above a lingering smell of copper and ozone.

They were surprised to discover that the mark they had assumed to be from some sort of blast, was actually a pattern of symbols burned into the concrete of the quays. Geert kneeled by the symbols to take a closer look, but was unable to recognize anything among them. They were organized in a circle of about two meters in radius, with another triangular pattern inside of it and… he counted thirteen lines exiting the circle with no apparent constant in their arrangement.

Geert waved Mohammed over to him, showing some symbols around the center of the mark.

“Eh, does that look like Arabic letters to you? I can’t recognize any of those symbols.”

The sphinx gave the symbols a hard look, but pulled back with a shake of his head, making his mane rustle.

“That’s not Arabic, that much I’m certain.” He waved a paw towards the outer edge of the circle “I see the resemblance, particularly towards that side, but it’s only the general shape. Symbols don’t match.” He frowned, before motioning with his head towards another succession of symbols. “Those on the other hand, I think it’s Hebrew. Or Hindu maybe? What do you think Cook?”

Rahul perked up at that from where he was looking on the other side of the mark.

“It’s called Devanagari for your information; but no, not that either.” He pulled out his phone. “Take a photo to show to the others later and keep going?”

“You do that; I will mark the position on my chart.” Geert told him.

Meanwhile, Mohammed was looking around the area, trying to see if anything around was tying with the mark. Unfortunately, he didn’t find anything in the vicinity; just some shrubbery that had been damaged by what he assumed was large dogs from the paw prints he saw in the dirt around it. He called off his search when Geert cried out after him; they were leaving for the navy base.

As it turned out, Geert’s negative perception of the local navy wasn’t entirely unfounded. They did leave the door open in the fence that separated their base from the rest of the port facilities.

Said base would hardly classify as large by many nations’ standards. It only had two medium draught docks, currently occupied by a couple old tugboats and some minehunters apparently awaiting repairs at the local repair station, a large boat lift made to pull small tonnage vessels out of the water. The rest of the base was occupied by fuel tanks, warehouses, and office buildings. One object of note was the search and rescue helicopter landed next to the docks. A Sea King, if Geert’s memory was right.

The Dutch parrot insisted on stopping at the guard post, justifying that it would be where they could probably find the most information on the rather small military installation. The small building still had its lightning on, indicating that the guards had been present at the moment of the catastrophe. Walking in through a back door left ajar, they saw that the TV was still on, hooked to a PS3 that was waiting for its players to resume their game of Fifa.

The group dispersed, each going to search the building in their own direction. Geert just made his way to the office part, intent on finding a personnel list.

Good thing he spoke the local language because all documents were in Flemish, the local flavor of Dutch. Sifting through the documents only took him a few minutes.

According to the data he found, there hardly was anyone on base at all except for the guards. Documents showed it wasn’t outfitted with barracks, so only some people working late in the night on projects had been present. Most of the guards had been at their post, but he noted that one had signaled going on patrol minutes before the catastrophe. He dutifully noted each occupied building on his chart.

Mohammed and Rahul came back to him before he could leave the building. At least the guards hadn’t been reckless enough to leave weapons lying around, though Mohammed did find a couple tear gas grenades and flashbangs. Rahul just gave him a drawing with the content of each building.

“Okay guys, I got a list with all the occupied buildings to check out. We’re not doing any actual salvage, but if we find anything particularly useful we mark it on the map and radio the salvage team, got it? Main focus is human activity.”

“I would argue about the ‘human’ part Officer, but roger that.” Mohammed commented “Where to now?”

“Repair station. Big building by the docks with the boat lift. Apparently they had a team working overtime on repairs, so I’d like to see if any of these guys are there. Try to be on the lookout for a lost guard too.”

Rahul gave him the thumb up and left the building, already headed for the building.

“Say De Vries, mind if I ask a question?” Mohammed politely asked his superior.

“Ask away.”

“How come you’re using a paper chart instead of just pulling out Google maps on your phone? Last I heard the servers were still up.”

“For now they are. I don’t expect them to last beyond a week if left untended, so I’d rather get used to paper charts.”

“You maxed out your data for the month.”

“Needed porn real quick last week. Don’t judge.”

“A worthy sacrifice.” The sphinx replied. “Uploaded on the crew stash I hope?”

“But of course my dear companion.” The parrot chuckled “Even tagged it properly.”

The trio made their way to their destination exchanging friendly banter as they went. It seemed like actually having something to do despite the lack of hands was having a positive effect on Mohammed’s mood.

They failed to notice that most of the lawns they passed around the base were completely trashed.

One building they passed had its door wide open and the lights in the entrance were still on. Geert halted the group with a sign of his claw and went to take a look. It was just an office by one of the warehouses, but he spotted some interesting details. Just by the door, he found a discarded pair of camo pants and combat boots. The pants were equipped with a utility belt and a pistol holster, which he was quick to retrieve and attach to his own waist.

Not that he knew how to use a pistol, but it wasn’t something you leave lying around regardless. He made sure the safety was on before slipping it back in the holster. Checking the belt revealed that he had a spare magazine to go with the one already on the pistol.

“You really think it’s a good idea to pack that thing?” Mohammed asked him.

“Not really, but it’s not something to be abandoned like that. Plus now we’ve got a clue on our missing guard’s whereabouts.”

“What makes you think that?”

“The pistol. It’s bound to be his. Though why he would shrug off his pants and leave his weapon, I don’t know.”

They also found a flashlight in the building, but not the guard. All doors were locked inside, so it didn’t seem like the guy was hiding there. Not that he had any reason to hide from a bunch of merchant mariners.

Exploring further in the base didn’t reveal any other open building until they reached the repair station. There, the relative quiet of the place was broken up by sounds of barking. Geert glanced at his companions before rushing towards the noise.

What they found on the side of the large hangar housing the boat lift was a thoroughly trashed lawn, with traces of blood in the mud. The hangar wall by the lawn had a broken window, from which the barking was coming from.

They carefully approached the window, while being very cautious of the glass shards littering the ground. The room inside was a tool shed for the workers of the repair station, with oil stains all over and tools haphazardly stowed on cheap shelves. But what gathered their attention was completely unrelated to the room’s purpose.

At the end of a blood trail coming from the window were two beings, both in a very poor state.

One was a guard dog, the classic Belgian Malinois, which was the source of the barking. It was wearing a set of K9 body armor, stained red by all the blood that was coming from a nasty gash in its neck. Upon seeing Geert and Rahul peeking through the window, the dog attempted to get up and growl at them, but its foreleg was so horribly mangled that it fell over with a pained whimper. A closer look revealed that the dog also suffered several cuts from the broken glass.

The other being in the room turned out to be much more of a surprise. It must have been the dog’s master due to the way the dog insisted on putting itself between it and the mariners.

It was, for all intents and purposes, a unicorn. Albeit a very small one, if comparison with the dog next to it was to be believed. Both creatures were about the same size, if you didn’t account for the unicorn’s large head. It had a sky blue coat, with a short olive green mane. The fur on the underside of its muzzle was a bit longer than the rest, giving it the impression of having a goatee. They also spotted an odd symbol on its rump (a look in that area revealed the being to be male), resembling a dismantled rifle. It was wearing clothes too, Geert noted. A camouflaged shirt that was frankly too big for its frame under a flak jacket, a dark blue beret ; and a single dog tag dangling from its neck.

At the moment, the unicorn was unconscious, with its back pushed against the wall furthest from them. He must have crawled backwards from the window.

Geert slowly vaulted over the window, taking great care in not injuring himself on the glass. He walked over to the dog and the unicorn, moving slowly so as not to scare the injured dog. He wanted to have a closer look at the unicorn. Rahul followed closely behind the Officer, with Mohammed in tow, the sphinx having quite a bit of difficulty getting over the edge of the window.

The guard dog once again made an attempt at stopping them, but its injuries were far too great to stop them from reaching its master. With a whispered order from Geert, Rahul went to deal with the dog.

Tell the talking dog to deal with an actual dog? Should he feel offended at that? Meh, no matter, the Indian pulled out a bottle of water from his backpack. Maybe the injured animal could use some water.

In the meantime, Geert was taking a look at the blue unicorn in the room. He was still unconscious, and the parrot was quick to identify the cause of that situation upon noticing the puddle of blood surrounding the victim. In addition to a large amount of cuts due to the glass (and from the way some wounds shined, there still was some glass imbedded in them), Geert observed a rather large gash on his neck, against which the unconscious unicorn had managed to press a rag to stem the blood loss.

“Looks like he lost consciousness due to blood loss.” Geert commented. “He’s still breathing though. We should probably radio the ship so we can evacuate him. How is the dog?”

“Not good, not good at all.” Rahul said. “I tried to make it drink some water but it doesn’t even have the strength for that. In all honesty I think we’re gonna lose it. How long do you think they were there?”

“Must have been a while, the blood stains are all coagulated and we didn’t see any ruckus today or yesterday evening.” Geert said, pressing a claw against the unicorn’s throat trying to find a pulse. “You see anything on your end Mohammed?”

“Not at all.” The sphinx replied. “It’s all blood and glass around here. Can’t get any clue on what could have hurt them like that. Besides the glass that is, they must have jumped through the window to escape it. The only thing I see around here is the trashed lawn and dog paw prints.”

“A pack of wild dogs then?”

“Around here? It’s barely been two days, way too early for them to start doing that.”

“So what? Wolves? It’s western Europe pal, you’re not gonna find any around here.” Rahul butted in.

“Well Sherlock, if you have any actual idea to put forward go and tell me, but why don’t we call the ship instead?” Mohammed answered. “Is that guy even alive?”

“Barely, but I got a faint pulse and some breathing. If we can get Vadim to sew him back together and pump some IV in him to correct the blood loss, then he’s got a chance.” Geert said before pointing towards the downed unicorn “Keep an eye on him; I’m going outside to get some reception.” He ordered before exiting through the broken window.

Rahul was still busy with the injured dog that had calmed down by then and was just holding its distance from him. The strangers weren’t harming its master, but that didn’t mean he liked them.

“Amandine, this is survey party, do you read me? Over.” Geert tried on his walkie-talkie.

“Survey party, this is Amandine.” The answer came after a minute, from Vadim apparently. “I read you four out of five, what is the situation? Over.”

“Amandine, we have discovered a local worker. The individual is unconscious and requires medical assistance. I request medevac at the location of the navy base. Over.”

“Survey party, I will be sending a vehicle to evacuate the casualty. Is the person human? Over.”

“Negative, the casualty appears to be a unicorn. Over.”

“Survey party, repeat after appears. Over.”

“I said the victim is a unicorn. A small horse with a horn on its head. Over.”

“Survey party, roger. Vehicle will be there in a couple minutes, do not attempt to move the casualty. Out.”

Much to the credit of the other teams deployed around the port, all had enough discipline not to clog the network with useless talk about them actually managing to find somebody. When Geert turned back to tell his companions a vehicle was coming to get them, he witnessed Rahul gently stroking the back of the dying guard dog whilst letting water slowly drip from his bottle down its throat.

Mohammed was keeping an eye on the unicorn, but didn’t seem to be particularly comfortable at the sight of all the blood, so Geert sent him out and told him to be on the lookout for the incoming vehicle.

“You think you can save that dog?” The parrot questioned Rahul.

“At this point? No, I’m just being merciful. Poor mutt is in a lot of pain and doesn’t have much time. I don’t even think we’ve got anything to help it.”

Geert approached the canine duo and kneeled by the guard dog, who barely reacted to his presence anyway. It gave a weak sniff when he showed it the palm of his clawed hand, but didn’t make a move to stop Geert from taking a look at the tag on its collar.

“Samson uh? Brave little fellow, making the ultimate sacrifice to save your master.” Geert gave it a sympathetic smile. “Don’t you worry, we’re going to save him and make sure he knows what you did.”

After doing a quick search around the building, Mohammed brought them a first-aid kit he found lying around. Geert used it to replace the rag used by the unicorn with some proper bandages. Moving him around didn’t seem to wake him up, but they got a look at his dog tag, which revealed the unicorn as a 46 year old called Bart De Mesmaeker.

No clue if the blood type was relevant anymore on the other hand. Not that they had any in store for a transfusion.

About half an hour later, Vadim arrived with a MAFI harbor tractor. The small sized truck was loaded with a gurney in the back (though the attachment didn’t look too stable, the griffon must have been in a hurry when he did that).

“Where’s the victim?” Vadim asked as soon as he stepped off his truck.

“Right there through that window. There’s an actual door around the building if you want.” Geert pointed out.

“Nah, no time for that. You got some notes on the guy?” His superior asked him as he made his way through the broken window.

“Yep, wrote down his parameters when I took them. Noted blood type, age, name, and the works too.” He said, handing the griffon his notepad.

“Good” Vadim ripped out the page with the notes and handed back the pad. He looked towards Rahul who was tending to the dog “What’s with the dog?”

“Ours or the guard dog?” Vadim glared at him for the joke. “Sorry. The dog belongs to the victim. It’s beyond saving though, so Rahul is… giving it its last graces, in a fashion. Got injured protecting its master apparently.”

“Damn, we really don’t deserve dogs.” Vadim shook his head before closing in on the casualty. He gave the bandage a critical look. “Your work?”

“Yes, disinfected it a bit too, and removed a piece of glass that was stuck in there.”

“Okay, now help me carry him to the gurney. He doesn’t look too big, should be easy. Remove his flak jacket if you. Don’t need that in the way.”

The unicorn was indeed rather light, but that didn’t mean carrying him was easy for Vadim due to his quadruped status. Still, they managed to secure him on the gurney. Behind them, Rahul left the building.

“The dog?” Geert asked.

“Gave its last breath a minute ago.” The cook lowered his head.

Geert decided not to dwell on the cook’s reaction and tightened the straps keeping the gurney attached to the back of the truck. Good thing the ship was rather close because he didn’t trust the arrangement at all.

“Hey Geert, where did you get that thing?” Vadim asked, pointing a talon towards the pistol on the parrot’s hip.

“It’s the guard’s. Found it in another building. Must have lost it like his pants when he changed into a unicorn and ran away.”

“Ran away from what?”

“From the prints on the ground we think it’s wild dogs.” Mohammed butted in. “Odd that they’d form packs so soon, but that’s our only idea.”

“Not wolves?” The Ukrainian asked.

“There are no wolves in Belgium.”

“If you say so” Vadim shrugged “Keep the gun and be on the lookout. Try to radio the other groups and warn them too. I doubt dogs would attack trucks and barges but we best be careful. I’m going back to the ship.” He waved a talon towards the unicorn in the back of his truck. “Got some stitching ahead of me.”

In the end, Rahul decided to get back to the ship with the truck since Vadim had a free seat, but Mohammed and Geert stayed behind to keep on exploring for a bit. After checking his watch, the parrot decided they still had an hour or two ahead of them before going back for lunch.

After the truck disappeared around a corner, the duo resumed their exploration, now reporting their findings to the other groups by radio.

They were now significantly more wary of what they might find.

Author's Note

Another bit of progression in the story. A ship may spend a long time at sea, but the interesting stuff happens in port most of the time.

Here is a picture of the outer harbor for context with indications for the sectors relevant to the story.

Had to stop myself and cut this chapter short otherwise it would have dragged on past the 15k words mark.

Happy holidays folks!

Chapter 9: First Contact

Rahul, Vadim and Geert wound up gathered in the Captain’s office late in the afternoon. They were seated around the conference table, with Dilip looking at some documents next to them. By then, Geert had given up his pistol and stowed it in the ship’s vault.

“So let me get this straight. Not a single trace of activity in the most active areas, except for some kind of demonic crop circle.” He waved a paw over a copy of Rahul’s picture of the symbol on his desk. “But when you go to a place that must have held ten people tops at the time of the transformation, you immediately find someone.”

“I can’t explain that sir.” Geert shrugged. “From the looks of it, it’s like everything just stopped at the same time we got transported forward in time.”

“Do you mean at night or in the morning when we reappeared?”

“At night sir. The guard we rescued was on a night patrol when it happened.”

“Ah yes, Corporal De Mesmaeker, correct?” Geert nodded. “How is he doing?”

“Still unconscious, but his vitals are stable. I patched up his wounds and gave him an IV to compensate for the loss of fluids. No idea when he might wake up however.” Vadim said.

“A positive nevertheless. I’m glad we could save him. Now, there’s something that worries me… have you identified the cause of his injuries? I heard from Mohammed when he got back that you suspected a wild dog attack.”

“That is indeed one of the possibilities sir, albeit not the only one or the most probable by a long shot. The state of the corporal and his dog point towards something bigger than a regular dog.”

“Care to elaborate?”

“I examined his flak jacket, and while its protection is not compromised, it has sustained a lot more damage than a dog should be able to inflict. Furthermore, both the dog and its master bear wounds that are much deeper than expected.”

“Something bigger then, a wolf?”

“There are no wolves in Belgium sir.” Geert politely remarked.

“Any indication that might give us a clue, De Vries?” The Captain asked.

“As a matter of fact, Mohammed pointed out earlier how much of the vegetation and lawns in the area are heavily damaged. In each case, one of which is the site where we found the casualties, paw prints assumed to belong to a large canine have been found.”

“Excuse me, but should we not be concerned at the presence of a soviet submarine in the marina?” Rahul said.

“It’s a museum ship. I personally visited it once with some company representatives.” Dilip dismissed the other Indian’s argument with a wave of his paw. “Back to our ‘large dog’, is it the only clue?”

“Until De Mesmaeker wakes up and tells us, yes it is.”

“Do you think it could be an animal that was being shipped at the time of the catastrophe?”

“Unlikely since most transit either through Rotterdam or Antwerp. I’m not saying it’s impossible, but I wouldn’t bet my wages on that. Animal transportation is a rare occurrence here, particularly when it comes to predators.”

Dilip reclined back in his chair, slowly stroking the side of his muzzle with a claw. He looked at a drawing on a chart depicting the activities of the other groups.

“You know, this turn of events puts us in a bad position. I’m thankful that no other team has reported any of the signs you witnessed around the marina and the base, but this issue has to be addressed. I don’t want anyone to wind up injured because they were not properly equipped to deal with that threat.”

“You don’t believe the less lethal equipment we have can deal with that.” Vadim guessed.

“Correct, I don’t. It might be effective against rioters and hippies stalling the ship, but when you see what that thing does to vegetation, I don’t think it works for Greenpeace. We need something better.”

“And that something wouldn’t by any chance be held within the confines of a military installation?” Vadim said.

Geert stared at the two men like they had suddenly sprouted a second head.

“You want to steal weapons from a navy armory? Do we really need to do that?”

“I’m afraid it is De Vries” Dilip stated. “I can’t send out my men around the port with no means of defending themselves from some as of yet unidentified foe. If I recall correctly, you picked up a weapon yourself at the base.”

“But I didn’t even know how to use it.” The parrot responded “And I don’t think many of us on this vessel do. We’re merchants, not navy.”

“I know that all too well, and I admit the consideration is not completely unjustified. That doesn’t change the fact we need a mean of defending ourselves, and the base can provide that.” He gave his subordinate a sympathetic look. “Believe me; I’m not starting to mistake this ship’s crew for the kind of mariners I work with when I’m with the navy cadets in India. I cannot and will not treat you the way I treat subordinates in the military. Does that answer satisfy you?”

“Yes sir.” Geert relented.

“And regarding your worries about how to use them. I think you will be surprised to know that a handful of crewmembers have a measure of military experience. Other than me, that is.”

“Really?” The parrot quirked his feathery eyebrows.

“Yes really.” The bronze furred dog tapped a stack of files on his desk. “I have skimmed through some data files to get a better look at that. It came with a few surprises. I counted three of them with a significant experience. The most impressive of which being that of Artyom, of all people.”

“Artyom is ex-military? You kidding?” Vadim asked incredulously.

“I’m very much serious Zinoviya.” Dilip said. “Our dear boatswain, as it turns out, has served for several years with the VDV before becoming a seafarer following an injury, if his file doesn’t lie.”

The griffon’s beak almost dropped to the floor at that announcement.

“What’s the VDV?” Geert asked, not really knowing how he was supposed to react.

“Russian paratroopers, also known as the blue berets.” Vadim whispered.

“Are you alright Vadim?” The Captain asked.

“Yeah, I am. Just… Fuck I’m lucky he’s rather chill considering how hard I’ve pranked him. I mean, you know these guys? They’re the type to rip your heart out with a spoon if you cross them. I mean… damn.”

“That good uh?” Geert mused.

“Yep. Good thing we have him along then.” Dilip concluded. “Now, back on track, the salvaging team has already gotten a fair amount of supplies for now, and the guys with the fuel are advancing at a decent pace. The chemical terminal is now a non-issue because it seems the controls had an automatic control switch, which we turned on. I’ve decided to call off all teams except yours and the fuel barge. We only have two guns for now, so that’s one per team.”

The dog paused to take a look at some papers in front of him, in particular the plan Rahul had found about the navy base.

“I fail to see notes regarding an armory on that plan.”

“Sir, I assume it is not a location they would want to advertise.” Rahul said.

“Then it’s pretty clear to me. Tomorrow you will go with Artyom and search for that armory. Hopefully by then our casualty will have woken to give us some indications.”

“What about me?” Vadim asked.

“You are and remain our sole medically gifted crewmember. You stay on Amandine.”

The Ukrainian griffon visibly deflated.

“Have we found any vehicle? To help with transporting the weapons, if we find them.”

“Yes De Vries, I don’t know if you have a truck license, but the salvage team has gotten half a dozen of them for which we could find enough spare parts.”

“Why the spare parts?”

“If we intend to keep them, we will have to fix them at some point, so I made sure they picked trucks from a garage with enough parts. We got four regular semi trucks and two eight-wheelers with crane and hook lift. Even got some flatbeds to go with those.”

“Alright Captain. That will be done tomorrow. Anything else that needs to be addressed today?”

“Not on my end. Roberto might need some assistance in his office; he’s been downloading ground charts and data via the satellite connection. I figure he might tell you what kind of documentation to look out for outside.” Dilip stood up. “Dismissed.”

All of the assembled crewmembers stood up then and left the office, leaving Dilip free to go back to his own room.

The following morning saw Geert, Artyom and Rahul piling up in their newly assigned truck. The cook took the wheel and started up the engine of the red painted Volvo truck while the other two members of the group were reviewing their objectives for their sortie.

“So it’s not only about finding the weapons?” The Indian asked the other two beside him in the cabin.

“Yeah, it’s unlikely they put their ammunition in the same place, so we look for that too.” Geert replied before pointing at the chart on his lap with a talon. “I also want to go take a look at the HQ building to get what they have for intelligence and nautical publications. And the motor pool too, surely they have some tools and parts we could use, plus the vehicles of course.”

“Intelligence?” Rahul asked.

“It’s just an assumption, but we believe they have a compilation of port reports that would contain data on the facilities that can be found and methods for approaches and berthing. We could combine that with our own and the company’s. That’s gonna make accessing ports a lot easier down the line.”

“Fair point. We got everything? Gun included?”

“Eeyup.” Artyom mumbled, tapping the holster on his hip for emphasis. Geert had willingly given up the gun in favor of having the veteran use it.

“Then let’s go.” Rahul concluded before waving his paw out of the window, indicating to Alejandro by the exit to lower the ramp.

A minute later, the crane truck was rolling down the ramp, followed by another containing the fuel barge team. Both trucks stayed together until the exit of the trailer yard before splitting up, the fuel barge team headed to the inner harbor where the fuel depot was situated.

Rahul steered his truck towards the marina, the trip being much shorter with a vehicle than on foot. He kept his speed low so that they could look around, but there didn’t seem to be much more activity than the day before.

The radius of damaged lawns around the marina had spread on the other hand, they noted. Geert radioed the ship once they arrived to tell them they were beginning their search.

“Rahul, you got a position for their motor pool? I want to try that first to see what we can find.” Geert said.

“Don’t have any, but from what we explored yesterday, it should be around there.” The dog said as he pointed at a part of the chart on the parrot’s lap.

“Looks like hangars from the satellite pictures. Let’s do that.” The young Officer said. “Think we can find something useful?”

“Surely, but if you expect tanks and shit you’re not gonna find any, kid.” Artyom commented. “It’s a navy base; they got no use for those. Diesel fuel on the other end… Should find a fuckton of it in their shore tanks.”

And they indeed didn’t find any armored vehicle. Their find was almost just as good on the bright side, because the hangar was filled with a well maintained fleet of Unimogs, all military-grade. These were lightweight 4x4 trucks with a modular rear section, all easily able to go cross-country. In a shed at the back of the hangar, they also found a couple containers worth of parts for the trucks, as well as a large amount of tools and accessories. They even got their hands on different rear sections for them other than the regular troop/cargo variant.

The trio loaded half a dozen of the trucks with as many tools and parts as they could find in the hangar. The keys to open them, they easily found in an office by the hangar, and they left them in each of the trucks they had selected for taking.

The ship was radioed and told of the position of the vehicle stash so that they would retrieve them later after they found weapons to equip every team.

If finding trucks was easy, it took them much longer to scour the base in search of its armory. The place was well hidden, but in the end they managed to find the underground bunker in which the weapons were stored, as well as the ammunition storage an hour later, but on the other side of the base.

Geert had to go retrieve keys from the guard post and try out several on the lock before the doors finally opened, yielding access to the most precious contents of the base, all safely stored in a bunker dug several meters deep in the concrete of the quays that made up the ground of the base.

The three orange clad mariners strode inside the dusty room that was the armory. It was rather featureless, having whitewashed cinder blocks for walls and polished concrete for flooring, but the lack of decoration was overshadowed by the visible racks of weapons located some ways past the entrance, just after the gunsmiths’ workstations and desks. There were also several crates holding related equipment by the door such as magazines, slings, and even one filled with bayonets.

Rahul gingerly walked over to one of the workstations onto which a heavy looking machinegun had been set, held upright by its bipod. The dog picked up the gun with a huff and gazed at it in wonder.

“Nice looking gun; must be powerful. I wonder though, it doesn’t seem that new. You’d think these guys would have something more modern.” He commented.

“They don’t need something more modern Rahul.” Artyom said, joining his colleague by the workstation. “It’s a FN MAG, made by the Belgian weapon manufacturer. Created in the fifties, but the thing is so well designed it’s still in use today all over the world. It’s supposed to be the base source of firepower in a squad, not the regular rifles.”

“Yeah from the size of that thing I get the reasoning. Must be a bitch to carry around.” Geert added.

“It is, but they usually put it on vehicles or on tripods. Still, I think a big guy like our resident minotaur Angelo could use it with little problem, and if we put some hardpoints on deck that will provide us some nice defensive fire. Come now; let’s see if we can find something more regular for the crew, like those rifles on the racks.”

Said racks attached to the walls were holding dozens of mean looking assault rifles, with most of them being of an older black painted model. There must have been at most half a dozen exemplars of the newer guns, each already equipped with a scope and foregrip. They were very different from the regular, being made of sand colored polymer instead of steel.

“Any idea what those are Artyom?” Geert asked.

“The new ones I heard of. Those are SCAR’s, the last model produced by the FN. A damn good rifle if comments are to be trusted.” The Russian veteran said, holding one of them in his claws and inspecting its workings. He put the gun back on the rack and picked one of the older ones.

“Weird” He said, turning the gun around and inspecting it. He racked the slide a couple times and a grin appeared on his muzzle, looking a tiny bit scary with his exposed fangs. “That thing feels just like an AK platform, the mechanism is almost identical.” He aimed down the sights once and did a couple motions which Geert didn’t recognize. “I like that. I like that very much, those Belgians have some nice taste beyond the waffles and beer.” His tail was swishing behind him as he said that.

“So it’s good?” Rahul asked.

“For us? Ideal I must say.” He pointed a claw at the SCAR’s on the rack behind him. “Those new guns, they’re good and we will take some, like the MAG’s, but this…” He waved at the one he held in his claws. “This is some easy to use, easy to maintain shit. If it’s as reliable as an AK, I’d say it will be much better for us than a more… technical gun.”

“But they don’t have scopes…” Geert began.

“You don’t even know how to use a gun, much less how to set up a scope. For you lot, that will be iron sights and you will be happy with it.”

“Eh if you say so…” Geert shrugged. “Think we should check if they have anything else?”

“Of course.” Artyom said before venturing deeper in the bunker.

In the end, they found almost everything they would need for the ship. A crate they opened turned out to be containing several pistols like the one found by Geert the day before (they were called Browning Hi-Power apparently) as well as some modern pistols that could shoot armor piercing rounds, Five-Seven as they were called according to Artyom.

The latter kind of pistol was later joined by a sub machinegun using the same round. The P90, that one Geert recognized from the Stargate series, but they only found four of those in working order (and with the parts to spare) inside of the armory. Geert wanted to take one for himself, but Artyom told him to stick to simpler guns until he actually knew how to use it correctly.

He could have called out the boatswain on the way he addressed an Officer, but to be honest he preferred to trust the veteran on the use of guns, so he just let it slide.

They began to pile all these guns on a cart to move them up to the truck later on, taking care to also load all the related equipment needed for long-term use.

Upon moving a crate of magazines to the cart, Rahul discovered a much more modern polymer casing under the stack he was inspecting. Curiously, he flipped it open and revealed some oddly shaped weapons inside. He picked one up and looked at it carefully, ears twitching in wonder.

The object looked like a gun, but was outfitted with a canister for compressed air on the side, and a drum magazine that was too thin to hold actual bullets.

“Say Artyom, you wouldn’t know what those are, would you?”

The blue dragon walked over to the dog and looked at the gun in wonder. He squinted and picked another gun from the same crate, similar to the first one, but downsized and shaped like a pistol. With a practiced motion he pulled out its mag and inspected it carefully.

“Can’t say I do, but that’s not meant to shoot bullets, that much I’m certain. Do you see a manual in the crate? Or a tag?”

Rahul kneeled next to the crate and looked at the markings on it, before shaking his head.

“It’s written in Dutch and French. Geert?” He said, turning towards the parrot who was going through a filing cabinet.

Said parrot joined them after shoving several documents under his coveralls. He kneeled for just a second before standing up.

“It says ‘less-lethal launcher, FN 303, long and short, 6 each’. Never heard of those, but it’s probably a good idea to take them as well. You see another crate like that one? For parts I mean.”

“Yeah, there is another at the back of this stack of crates. Wanna take them?”

“Yes, that will come in handy, probably more than the guns. I’d much rather shoot to disable than to kill, wouldn’t you Artyom?” He said offhandedly towards the dragon.

“If you’re implying I’m some kind of bloodthirsty ex-military then you’re dead wrong.” The dragon answered with a scowl. “That part of me, I left behind in a military hospital.”

“Glad to hear that. Not that I can ensure we won’t happen, just reminding you… We’re merchants, not navy.”

“You needn’t remind me of that, lass.” He growled.

“What was that? Care to repeat that, eh?” The parrot cawed, immediately getting close to the dragon and staring him down.

“What I’m saying, Officer” The dragon stated through gritted fangs “Is that you should rather worry about an inexperienced sailor accidentally escalating things because he didn’t know any better than one of the veterans going trigger happy.”

Geert glared at Artyom for several seconds before turning away with a snort.

“Klootzak.” He muttered, not hearing Artyom mutter a quiet ‘pidor’ on his own end.

Despite the conflict between the two, the crates were loaded with the rest of the gear and eventually wound up on the truck half an hour later. Geert was making one last round of inspection around the armory to see if there was anything else they might have some use for, but they really had taken all they would need from the bunker. Even weapon repair manuals found their way on their truck, the only thing they could not get their hands on being optics and accessories that were not already fitted on the weapons.

One good thing is; they even found some mounts for the machineguns that were in the process of being repaired at the workshop.

“Is all the gear secured?” Geert asked Rahul who was tightening a strap on the truck’s flatbed.

“All good, now we can go get some ammo for these and we’re done.”

Of course something had to go and ruin their day. Their radio crackled with some alarmed chatter from Amandine. Geert raised the volume on the walkie-talkie and asked them to repeat.

“Amandine to weapon team. Be advised, we have spotted unidentified movement around your section of the harbor. Movement has been confirmed by the fuel barge team to be headed in your direction. Over.”

Rahul raised his head in alarm, ears swiveling in the direction of the guard post.

“Uh oh, Officer, hope you’re not afraid of dogs.” He muttered, reaching for the can of tear gas on his hip.”

Geert took the time to reassure Amandine they were alright… for now, before answering the Indian.

“I’m not, but I’d be more comfortable if we had more lead to throw at them. Dogs you say? Think we can sneak around to the ammo storage?”

Rahul seemed to think for a bit before he nodded.

“I can hear them, big ones, but maybe we can.” He pointed to a gap between two warehouses. “Let’s try this way; you got the key to the storage?”

“That I do, Artyom, you ok there?” The dragon was standing on the top of the truck’s cab, pistol in hand and head turned in the direction of the guard post.

“I am, but we will need a diversion. The truck won’t do.”

Geert pulled out a stun grenade from his pocket.

“I got your diversion covered, flashbang ready to be thrown whenever you’re ready.”

Both the dragon and the dog motioned for him to wait.

“Not yet, wait until they’re around the block or you will just lead them straight to us.” Artyom followed the sound of the dogs that were now inside the base, though his and Rahul’s hearing must have been better than Geert’s because the parrot was unable to hear them.

Rahul pulled two rifles from a crate and slung one around his back before passing the other to Geert.

“Almost there, get ready, aim for the dock opposite to us.” Artyom said, before counting down on his claws.

Three.

Two.

One.

“Now!” Artyom yelled, and Geert pulled the pin before pitching the grenade as hard as he could towards his target.

To his credit, it landed very close to the target. Now who said playing baseball in Europe was dumb? The trio didn’t get to witness the landing or the detonation, because they were already bolting for the other side of the base.

The diversion earned them a precious few seconds, but the dogs that had injured the Corporal the day before were already on their trail, they could hear them around the block they had just passed.

Geert put on a burst of speed that impressed even himself, easily getting ahead of Rahul and Artyom. Key in claw, he practically slid down the slope leading down the bunker used to store ammunition and fumbled to get the key inside the slot.

Behind him, his two companions got into position to cover the access. One armed with a pistol, the other, looking much less confident, was brandishing his can of tear gas. A dreadfully old can of tear gas.

The parrot practically ripped the door open and they all made their way into the bunker at the same moment a brown silhouette crested the top of the ramp and glared down at them.

“The fuck is this thing?” Geert gaped.

Because the thing in question couldn’t possibly have been a dog. It was easily the size of a grey wolf and had the general shape of one, but the similarities stopped there. It had two holes in its head in place of eyes, and they gave off an eerie green light that seemed to look at them with malice. Its body was made out of an accumulation of wood, branches and rotten vegetation. The latter must have been the source of the smell it gave off because the scent of mold, mulch and rotten fruit permeated the air around it.

Nobody in the trio failed to notice the wickedly sharp claws the creature had around its paws. Or the way it growled at them.

“Stay back or I’ll shoot!” Artyom yelled, already leveling his pistol at it.

The creature just howled and was soon joined by two other. They then started to stalk towards the sailors.

Without turning his back to the creatures, Geert went inside the bunker, tapping on both Rahul and Artyom’s shoulders to get them to follow him.

He didn’t bother observing much around the inside of the bunker, immediately going for one of the shelved ammo crates, checking the tag on it. He needed some 5.56 rounds, ASAP.

At the entrance, Rahul barely had the time to close the door before the… wooden hounds pounced. One managed to wedge its head in the door and started to push, biting and clawing at the reinforced door. Artyom fired two shots through its skull which collapsed in a shower of wooden shards. Unfortunately, its place was quickly occupied by another.

Rahul, who was pushing with all his strength against the door, managed to take out his lighter. The Indian ignited it and pointed his tear gas canister at the gap in the door.

One press of the trigger later, the creature was on fire and backing away from the door. Weirdly enough there was no sign of the remains of the head of the first hound Artyom had shot.

“Are they gone?” Geert asked, now occupied with loading the magazine on his rifle with bullets from one of the crates.

“Not yet. They’re watching the door.” Artyom answered, looking through the bulletproof glass panel in the door. He saw the hound he had shot stand up, looking mostly unharmed. “The fuck?”

“What?”

“That thing I shot, you saw its head burst right?”

“Yeah, so?”

“Well it just picked itself up, saw its head reassemble itself out of the splinters.”

“What about the one on fire?” Rahul asked.

Artyom peered again through the glass. The blackened hound had lost a lot of parts and wasn’t regenerating.

“You might have an idea there, Cook. How much liquid do you have left in your canister?”

“Enough.” The dog answered without looking.

“Guys? I got good news and bad news.” Geert started. “Bad news is, can’t radio the ship from this bunker. Good thing is…” He pulled the charging handle on his rifle. “We’ve got plenty to fight back.” He tossed Rahul a couple clips of ammunition. “Load your mag; we can burn them while they’re down.”

“Aye aye Officer” The dog answered with a smile. “Time to play lumberjack with these shits.”

“You wouldn’t happen to have found some 9mm in there by any chance?” Artyom asked.

“Probably the small boxes on the back shelf.” Geert answered with a point of his talon. “Why? You shot twice at most.”

“Eh, no reason not to want to top off my mags.”

“Take your time, we ain’t going anywhere.” Rahul said, glancing at the window in the door. “And neither are they, for that matter. Wonder what we did to them.”

“No clue, but they don’t seem like they wanna take an interview ‘bout that.” Geert commented. “Wanna take a guess?”

“Dunno, we’re on their territory? Probably? The fuck are these anyway?”

“Looks like wolves, but made of wood, and reassemble themselves if you break them, like skeletons in Mario.” Geert shrugged. “Beats me, some kind of government project? That’s not really something I can picture Belgians doing, much less on a navy base.”

“Well I can’t say I know either.” Artyom said. “But we at least have an idea on how to kill them, and that’s enough for now. You ready?” He asked as he inserted a freshly reloaded mag in his pistol.

“Whenever you both are. Any advice on how to shoot these, Artyom?” Rahul stood up and racked the charging handle on his rifle.

“Check the safety, stick to single fire, aim before you shoot, watch out for ricochets. Most of all, don’t point it at friendlies. That good enough for now?”

“Will do.” He grasped the doorknob “Ready?”

Both his companions answered with a firm nod, readying their weapons. Rahul quickly pushed the door and rushed outside. The hounds immediately turned their attention back to the sailors and gave a furious howl, which was answered in kind by a yell from the trio.

Rahul shouldered his rifle and let loose on the first dog he saw at the top of the ramp. The thing tried to charge him, but Rahul’s fire had little chance to miss its mark over such a small distance. Its head exploded in a shower of splinters and its body collapsed under the perforating fire. Six shots in quick succession were enough to halt its charge at the group. Rahul’s ears ached after that loud burst of gunfire. Maybe enhanced hearing came with some disadvantages.

The three mariners slowly advanced up the ramp, the other two hounds having backed off at the first sound of gunfire. They trained each of their guns in different directions at the direction of Artyom.

Seconds later, both of the remaining hounds came charging from different directions at full speed, each kicking up a cloud of dust in its wake.

Geert went down on one knee and opened fire on the mass of lumber running at him. The first shot shattered one of its legs; the second grazed its flank but didn’t seem to hinder it much. The Dutchman swore and fired a third time, hitting it full center of mass, which caused the being to trip and land in a heap. After that, two more shots reduced the creature to splinters.

Next to him, Artyom easily dispatched the remaining wolf with two bullets from his pistol at a distance of more than twenty meters. Each shot landed squarely between its eyes.

“Rahul, quick, burn ‘em down before they can get up.” Geert ordered.

The Cook rushed over to both of the creatures’ remains and thoroughly sprayed them with flaming tear gas. The wood caught fire and he let his arms drop with a sigh of relief.

“Eh, good thing what we’ve got for tear gas is the cheapest on the market eh? Any better and it wouldn’t have caught fire.” He joked, turning to his companions.

Rahul saw Geert’s eyes widen before the parrot started to run towards him.

“Duck!” Geert yelled at him, and Rahul turned around to look at what got the parrot so worried.

Ah right, there were three hounds, not two. It had gotten just enough time to reassemble and was now in the process of pouncing at him.

Rahul froze at the sight, completely forgetting about the rifle slung across his back. His moment of fear was broken up by Geert shoving him out of the way with a push of his shoulder, unfortunately putting himself in the way.

Geert cried out and braced his rifle in front of him before the hound could get to him. It still bowled him over completely and he went rolling a couple meters to the side, landing on his head.

The wooden creature caught its footing and howled at the two mariners that had killed its brethren. Artyom responded in kind with a roar of rage before he opened his maw wide and spat out a gout of flame that set the hound ablaze. It roared in pain and started to trash on the ground, trying to put out the fire consuming its body before the Russian ended its struggle with a bullet between its eyes.

Rahul stared at Artyom like he had grown a second head. The dragon was staring intently at the burning carcass in front of him, tails swishing back and forth quickly.

“You alright there Artyom?” He asked.

“I am. Just surprised is all. Should have expected it, the flame I mean.”

“What? That’s about the only thing out of place I saw. Is there a problem?”

The blue dragon’s gaze flicked once to the dog before focusing back on the carcass.

“None that you should be concerned about. How is De Vries?”

Rahul looked at the immobile form a few meters to the side with a frown.

“Not good. Gimme a hand with him would you?”

Artyom nodded firmly before he started to walk in the direction of Geert.

“Yeah let’s do that.” The boatswain concluded. “Can you radio the ship? Tell them we dealt with the problem and to send us a team. I want to get these guns and ammo back to the ship ASAP.”

“You don’t sound like you’re doing well.” Rahul answered.

“Just got a lot on my mind is all.” He waved the concern away. “Nothing to worry about.”

When they approached Geert’s body, they found the Officer to be mostly unharmed, but unconscious due to the impact he had received from a heavy mass of lumber throwing itself at him. A brief inspection revealed no bleeding wound or apparent fracture, but he would wake up with some seriously bruised ribs and maybe a dislocation or two.

Vadim on the ship was notified as soon as they appraised his status. The Ukrainian had a few choices words to address the duo about having to treat two people over as many days. Rahul didn’t understand Ukrainian, but from Artyom’s reaction and the tone, he wasn’t really congratulating them.

There was one Officer that didn’t like being stuck with medical duties, that much he had figured out. He gave Artyom a tired look before picking up Geert in his arms.

That one was going to be a bitch to explain to the Captain.

Author's Note

And now for some actual action instead of just talking. This also highlights one of the ways I chose to deviate from regular PaP canon. Amandine brings the crew a lot more capabilities than your regular group of survivor, and if I want to make the story at least slightly interesting, she needs to face proportionate threats and challenges, so here we go with Invasive Equestrian Species.

Now for the crew to figure that out...

Chapter 10: Shipborne Healthcare

Geert felt like he was swimming in a pit of tar. His thoughts felt sluggish and his limbs refused to respond the way they were supposed to. He tried to take a breath, but air refused to enter his lungs regardless of how hard he tried.

He suddenly woke up in his bed back home with a gasp. He looked around and was surprised to find himself in his bedroom back home in Vlissingen. He brought up a hand – a human hand – up to his face and felt around. No beak, no feathers, all normal. He allowed himself a smile and stood up.

In the end that crazy story was just a bad dream. No apocalypse, no Russian dragon or wooden dogs or unicorns… Just life as usual.

He stood up and put on a bath robe, smelling the scent of fresh eggs coming from the kitchen. His girlfriend was making breakfast for them. He crept up behind her and gave her a surprise hug, which the blonde accepted with a cute laugh. They kissed.

“Why hello there, how is it going sailor?” She greeted him.

“Couldn’t be better with you here love, oh how I missed you.” He answered, beaming.

“By the way, Jos said he was coming by noon.” She said.

“Uh? Who is Jos?” He asked, puzzled.

“Your boyfriend of course. How could you forget? You wouldn’t stop talking about him whenever you called.”

Geert gaped at her as if she had sprouted a second head and backed away slowly. Time seemed to stop as his vision shattered like broken glass before he had time to ask her anything.

And then he was back in his room, sitting on his bed. A featureless male silhouette entered the room and Geert smiled brightly at him before he crept backwards and beckoned him forward with an inviting gesture… But he hadn’t willed his body to move.

Before he had time to react or assess the situation, the silhouette was all over him. His body refused to react to the orders he was giving it. The atmosphere felt dark and oppressing but his body wouldn’t stop smiling. He tried to push the silhouette away but to no avail, his body instead pressed itself against it in a lover’s embrace.

He then felt something insert itself between his legs and a searing pain flashed through his nether regions. He managed to wrench his gaze free and take a look between his thighs.

He was getting fucked alright. Gone was his male genitalia, now replaced by a wet slit currently being penetrated by the same apparatus Geert used to wield a mere days before. He tried again to free himself from the silhouette’s embrace, but it just kept pounding him senseless.

An arm flashed in the corner of his vision and his focus was brought back to the silhouette’s face. He gave Geert a forceful kiss which his out-of-control body accepted with reckless abandon. He smiled at the captive Dutchman before uttering a few words.

“Polly wants a cracker?”

And in an instant, gone were the silhouette and the bedroom, now replaced by the steel bars of a cage.

Geert looked around in surprise, he was back in the kitchen but it was… different. He was trapped in a small cage in a corner of the room, which felt a lot bigger than before. He looked at himself and discovered red feathers instead of his tanned skin.

“Polly wants a cracker?” The question repeated itself in a different voice, and Geert’s head whipped around to stare at his girlfriend, now enlarged to a gigantic size.

He brought up a hand in alarm and let out a cry of surprise, only the hand was a multicolored wing and the cry was more of a squawk.

He was a fucking parrot now, and his girlfriend was trying to feed him a cracker.

The sheer surprise made Geert fall backward from his perch in the cage and down he went, his attention turning to the white of the ceiling. All around, everything blurred as he fell and fell for what felt like hours, leaving only him, the white of the ceiling, and the pull of gravity on his back.

Geert opened his eyes. A white ceiling greeted his vision, accompanied by a continuous beeping off to his side. His head throbbed, his body ached, and his limbs felt like they were being chewed by legions upon legions of red ants.

And the large beak in the middle of his vision told him more than a thousand words ever could. He still was a parrot.

“Godverdomme…” He swore tiredly before turning his head to the side.

He was lying under a white sheet on a gurney inside the infirmary. The beeping off to his side was coming from the heart monitor currently keeping an eye on the other patient in the room, a sky blue unicorn hooked to more tubing than Geert cared to count.

Not that he wasn’t plugged in too, he realized with distaste. Someone had stuck an IV in his arm, a monitor around the other and… Oh God no.

He had a catheter shoved between his legs, and judging by the yellow color of the tubing… He gagged.

He also had a sling holding his arm tightly in place as well as a splint around his leg. Uh, that hound may not have managed to draw blood but he sure had done a number on him, he mused. He distractedly scratched one of his ears with a talon, noting in passing that he also had a bandage around his head, that one holding a cool pad against a nasty goose egg on his forehead.

Also, he was only wearing a hospital gown… Not that it was particularly surprising, but that didn’t make it any more pleasant.

On the bright side, someone had left a bottle of water on a table beside him. Geert was all too glad to down it and rectify the unpleasant feeling of his parched throat. He didn’t have a clue as to how long he had been down, but from the feeling in his throat that wasn’t just a couple hours. A glance at the clock in the room told him it was eight in the evening, but what day?

Geert tried to move to the side of his gurney so that he could extend his uninjured arm and reach the room’s intercom set but he had to retract it when a lance of pain coursed through his side and made him grit his beak in pain.

Looks like he was stuck there waiting ‘til someone dropped by. He dropped back in his bed and exhaled loudly in annoyance, the sound of the air passing through his beak making a soft whistle.

It took half an hour before a certain grey griffon came in to inspect his patients. Geert leveled a critical eye in Vadim’s direction.

“Took you long enough.” He rasped.

Vadim startled and looked at him in surprise.

“Oh hi there… How long have you been awake?”

“Half an hour. How long was I out?”

“About… thirty six hours I think.” He answered after looking at the clock. “How do you feel?”

“Groggy, sore, and I could seriously use a refill of water.” Geert said, holding up his empty bottle.

“Yeah I’d expect you to be… You took one hell of a hit from that hound.”

“You tell me, ‘doc’, what do I have? And was the catheter really necessary?”

Vadim refilled his bottle from the tap before giving it back.

“Considering you filled two bags, I’d say it is. Seriously, you ain’t the kind of guy I’d ever consider as having any risk of dehydration. And it’s not like I put it there because I get off on shoving tubing up people’s genitals thank you very much.” He paused to look at the monitor by the unicorn’s bed. “That being said you both had me looking up procedures for that. Do you know how hard it is to translate procedures meant for humans to… let’s call it aliens. Do you?”

“Can’t really tell.”

“It’s fucking hard.” Vadim growled out. “And I hate being stuck as the medical guy in the first place. Seriously, why do Maritime Academies keep letting people skip the medical courses? I mean, really?”

“You’re rambling.” Geert pointed out.

“Eh come on, I got a lot on my mind.” Vadim said, sitting on his haunches by Geert’s bed. “You know, there are some interesting things about your new anatomy. You’d think it would be avian down there and you do have the cloaca, except it seems to be only connected to the reproductive system. It’s kind of a mix of mammalian and avian features.”

Geert gave his superior a weird look, but the griffon kept going without paying attention.

“It’s fascinating to be honest. I bet you’re now an egg laying species, but the digestive system looks mammalian, which was convenient for the catheter and explains why you can urinate at all, birds don’t do that. I guess you could say you’re kind of a reverse platypus.”

The parrot’s answer was just a stare.

“Eh sorry.” The griffon sheepishly rubbed the back of his head. “You just woke up and I’m throwing all that stuff at you.”

“Maybe you could begin again from the start and tell me what I have.”

“Yeah, sure. Pretty simple, Rahul brought you in with a concussion, a dislocated hip and shoulder and some bruised ribs. I set those back in place, but you should avoid straining them for… a day or two… I think.”

“You think?”

“I’m not a doctor pal.” Vadim raised his claws in defense. “All I got as a basis is my old folio from medical courses and all. It’s kinda vague. That being said, I did learn something about you when I reset your hip.”

“And what would that be?”

“Did you know you can bend your legs both ways? As in, backwards and forwards? I’ve seen you parrots walk, human style, so I don’t know if you figured it out yet.”

Geert raised his eyebrows.

“I did not. Never came to my mind to try and bend my knee the opposite way, thought that was common sense. Thanks I guess.”

“Eh it’s nothing.” Vadim shrugged.

There were a couple seconds of awkward silence where Vadim looked at Geert in expectation, his orange nomex clad tail swishing back and forth behind him.

“Alright, what did I miss?” Geert asked.

“A lot that’s what you missed.” Vadim said with a grin. “When you guys got rid of those ‘wood hounds’ or whatever they’re called, you opened the way for some serious supply gathering. We got our fuel, so all tanks are full. Gives us something like three months of autonomy. Then there are all the military trucks we’ve added to the vehicle fleet; the guns but that you already know.” He stopped and gave a gentle tap of the talon on the side of his beak. “Artyom recruited Sri and Nikola to give us weapon training with those by the way. Training is still being planned but should begin in a day or two.”

“So we’re armed now?”

“Hell yeah we are, and pretty heavily thanks to you. The Captain has been partial about handing them out however. Gotta be sure we don’t accidentally shoot someone you know? After the trucks and guns, we’ve also loaded a couple containers worth of food, parts and the works. Electronics too, the whole nine yard of TV’s, processors and computer components. Carlos has been working all day on improving the server grid and all; we even got some radio equipment for each truck… and a fuckton of satellite phones.”

“A fuckton?”

“An entire twenty foot container. Loaded with regular sat phones and some weird kind of modified smartphones equipped with a satellite antenna. Damn useful those things, ‘cause the wireless phone connection went down yesterday.”

“It went down? As in, completely?”

“Yeah, antennas stopped working around midnight. Not really practical when you pair that with the ever decreasing number of working servers on the internet. But now we got the stuff to compensate. Who needs antennas when you got satellites, eh?”

“And the charts? Did we get them from the internet?”

“Only the ground charts. Navigation charts…” Vadim stopped to give him a bright smile, which was a bit unsettling coming from someone with the face of a falcon. “We just robbed the Admiralty building for all its intel.”

“All of it?”

“Even the chart printer. Now we can literally go anywhere in the world and have the charts for it. Neat right?”

“Damn right. Is that all?”

“Not even close.” Vadim said. “Still got two things to say. One is: we’re working in the lower holds to install a workshop and vehicle repair bay. Had to go and get some new ventilation units from a warehouse to make sure we don’t suffocate if we ever want to use it but it’s shaping up rather nice. We also installed some fuel tanks just for vehicle fuel so we don’t mix up our varieties of diesel.”

“All in the course of one day?” Geert asked incredulously.

“I didn’t say it was finished, I said it was shaping up. It might take weeks to finish that. Still, the second thing is the Captain’s new standing order. He calls it the ‘It’s all there in the manual procedure’.”

“Care to elaborate on that?” Geert asked.

“Basically, because we’re gonna be out of our area of expertise most of the time, we can take supplies and all, but for every item we take, we gotta make sure we grab both spare parts and all the manuals for them.”

“Eh I get it. He thinks that if we’re gonna be stuck like that we have to make everything last, right?”

“That and we can’t really afford to fuck up when using foreign machinery. Not when the ‘doctor’ can’t fix much more than basic wounds.”

They kept talking for a while before Vadim was forced to excuse himself and leave, having duties to attend to. To Geert’s request, he gave him some painkillers by plugging a fresh bottle in his IV and moved his bed closer to the intercom phone. Vadim promised the parrot he would come back later to remove the catheter when he was done before hurrying away.

The Dutchman glanced at the still unconscious unicorn in the room. Recovery was going to be boring as hell…

Vadim went down several stairways before reaching the level of the stern ramp. He left the stairway to be met with a ramp that was bustling with activity.

Two of their trucks were backing in, each carrying a load of equipment including steel plates and their new ventilator fans. Micha was guiding them deeper inside to the position they had chosen to set up their planned workshop as well as the vehicle repair bay.

The Third Officer found himself zigzagging between a handful of shipmates bringing tools to the construction site before he found his target: Alejandro, the Chief Officer. The parrot was currently busy talking with their Chief Engineer, Schmitt, both of them looking at a laptop set up on a desk on a side of the car deck. They acknowledged his presence with a nod before returning to their discussion.

“So…” Schmitt continued “As I said, we need to raise the tweendeck fifty centimeters to fit enough extractor fans for the workshop. If we raise it more than that we lose the possibility to use it for container and car storage. Trucks are already a lost cause for that part, but the main decks leave us with enough capacity to house at least two hundred TEU’s or cars on that deck alone.”

“Yeah, agreed on that point. We lose the ability to adjust the height on the tweendeck though. Not really a problem as long as we can roll in the containers on MAFI’s. Do we have enough room to let their tractors pass?”

Schmitt squinted at the laptop before nodding.

“Yes, only 20 centimeters to spare, but they will pass. You think we can pierce the deck to pass the ventilation conduits from the workshop?”

“Only if you add a watertight seal around the hole. Mark it down, use a weld to attach the conduit, and then mold a rubber seal around the hole to block out water egress.”

“That’s all I see on the plan for now. When do you want the refueling station to be completed? The one for the trucks I mean.”

“Stick to securing the diesel tanks on the bottom deck. We will see if we can pass some fuel lines through when the workshop is done. In the meantime, it can wait.” Alejandro reviewed the plan on the laptop. “That’s done faster than I’d have wished but safety wise it seems to pass inspections.”

Schmitt clasped his shoulder and gave him a tired smile.

“Don’t worry about it too much, you told me you had some dry-dock experience, refitting ships and all, you’ve done that before. Plus we I looked it through on the computer, structural integrity and stability are sound. Hell, we even gain something like twenty-five centimeters on the metacentric height.”

“I know. But this time it’s my own ship I’m modifying, not just a client passing through.”

“Doesn’t change much, and we reviewed the safety procedures three times already. Materials are in place, you just got to give the green light.”

Alejandro gave the laptop one last look before nodding and turning to his colleague.

“You’re right. Can’t improve much on it anyway. Take the laptop and print the schematics. I don’t want to start the works today, so delay the beginning until tomorrow morning.”

Schmitt gave Alejandro the thumbs up and then left with the computer. The Chief Officer turned to Vadim who had been observing the conversation.

“How was it in the infirmary?”

“Geert’s awake, the other guy, not so much.”

“Still an improvement. How long do you think he will need before getting back to work?” Alejandro asked.

“Not too sure about that. I told him he’d have to stay off of his leg for about two days.” He said hesitantly.

“A bit long considering he basically is our interpreter in the area…”

“Can’t do anything to help with that. Regardless, you wanted to talk to me?”

“Uh uh, you’re on watch now, right?”

“Yes, doing my rounds around the ship and keeping an eye out from the bridge from time to time.” He answered. “Why the question?”

“I’m trying to work out some planning. Regardless, since you kept saying you wanted to go out and take part in the salvaging, I got you an ‘expedition’ for tomorrow.”

The griffon sat on his haunches and crossed his forelimbs. With a nod he told the Chief Officer to go on.

“The Captain has been quite hesitant about letting you leave, but I managed to convince him to make an exception.”

“Really?” Vadim said with raised eyebrows.

“Yes, really. I got a more extensive list of the tasks for your expedition, but basically I want you to take a three man team to retrieve medical supplies from the clinic on the navy base. Rahul got it marked down on a map when he explored the area so you can’t miss it.”

“Only the clinic?”

“That’s the first destination I added so I could justify sending you. Do you know the company Dräger?”

“They make gas masks and breathing equipment, correct?” Vadim hesitated.

“Among other things, but yes. They have a warehouse close to the inner harbor, and it’s in the vicinity of another depot belonging to an industrial clothing manufacturer. You catch my drift?”

“Yep, first the medical supplies, then the breathing apparatus and finally work clothing.”

“I added some specifications to your list, so if you can find the thing Dräger uses to customize gas masks and all that would be great. I don’t know if it’s a mold or a 3D printer, but just take it. Try to get a lot of gas detectors too.”

“Will do.” The griffon smiled; finally he was getting out of the ship. “That all you had to tell?”

“Yep. You got a lot to do yourself?”

“Nah, just got to get the catheter off of De Vries then it’s back to watchkeeping. Goodnight.” He said, walking off.

Around them, the stream of vehicles unloading wares for the upcoming workshop was winding down. Not that it mattered to Vadim, who was all too glad to finally get to go ashore.

The following morning saw Vadim sipping coffee from a thermos by the stern ramp. Alejandro was at his side and giving him a last minute briefing on his mission for the day, with the Third Officer quietly reviewing the map onto which he had marked his destinations.

“If you don’t mind me asking amigo, who’s coming along for your little expedition?” Alejandro asked after he finished his briefing.

“When the Captain heard of the details he told me to take Artyom along. Third guy in our group is Boris.”

“Two Russians uh? You must be the only Ukrainian I know that doesn’t have a problem with them.”

“Don’t be mistaken, I am pissed off about Crimea.” Vadim remarked. “It’s the Captain that gathered us all in a room once and told us if we caused any problem about it he would blast us with a fire hose. All of us at once, that is.”

“And?”

“Eh, once you get past the politics they can be pretty cool guys.” He gave the Chief Officer a pointed look. “You just have to remember never to mention Sebastopol.”

“Uh, I will try to remember that.” Alejandro said before finishing his coffee.

Minutes later, both Boris and Artyom arrived loaded with guns and flak jackets. It looked like the ballistic protection made for a good utility rig if you loosened it enough to account for the wings on their back, though he doubted it would be comfortable.

Boris passed Vadim one of the older rifles as well as a fully loaded jacket which was already equipped with a pistol holster. He noted that Artyom was carrying one of the SCAR’s instead, as well as one of the newer pistol models.

“Here you go Officer, the jacket is already fitted. You got three mags for your rifle, one of the less lethal pistols with two mags; some stun grenades and a bayonet. That good for you?”

“It should be, are the radios already in the truck?” Vadim asked as he put on the jacket.

“Loaded them this morning, three walkie-talkies, one long range radio for the truck, and our sat phones. The phones already have a GPS and we can load them with the truck’s battery.”

Just as he said that, Artyom rolled by them in a Unimog and waved for them to get on board. Vadim wished Alejandro a good day and just like that they were off.

Vadim almost racked the slide on his rifle before being stopped by Artyom who told him to avoid chambering a bullet when they were in a vehicle. He told him they were still hammering down the finer details for weapon procedures, but that they had already decided to forbid having chambered weapons when on board of the ship or in vehicles.

The salvaging effort of the crew in the vicinity of Amandine was easy to notice. Most of the trailers in the yard had been left open to the elements, and some gaps indicated the former place of those they had selected for loading. Vadim was ready to bet that if he were to check out the container terminal, most of them would have already been pried open.

They passed a couple heavy duty forklifts by the entrance. Some shipmates had left them here since it was more practical to carry a container on them for the three kilometer distance between the ship and the terminal rather than wasting time loading containers on a trailer.

Zeebrugge was looking a bit dilapidated after the passage of the crew, but they had done their best to avoid causing undue damage to the houses. Rahul and Nguyen had raided some restaurants in the area the day before to ‘improve’ the kitchen’s equipment, and some of their shipmates had done their groceries in the shops around the marina, but most houses had been left intact.

What’s the point of raiding a house to get electronics when you can get them brand new from the harbor after all? The same went for clothing, to a lesser extent because most on the crew didn’t want to bother refurbishing human clothing to fit them. Coveralls were enough work as is.

Didn’t stop them from refilling their snack and liquor supply in town; Vadim had long stopped counting the amount of Belgian Beer loaded on board. Plus they had brought him his share and then some.

Funnily enough the worst problem they had had after the wood hound incident was only guard dogs (no they didn’t shoot them). Either the trio they killed was the whole pack or the surviving members had fled the area.

They stopped at the guard post of the navy base to retrieve the keys to the buildings. The Captain had told the crew to leave them there in case other ‘survivors’ passed by later and wanted to get supplies. They didn’t need all the equipment the base could provide.

Artyom steered the truck at a slow pace towards a white painted building with large windows. Vadim eyed it critically, already locating the emergency wing and taking note of an odd port set in the wall next to it. It reminded him of a submarine hatch.

They parked the truck next to an old olive green ambulance that had seen better days.

“Much as I respect these guys for preferring rugged equipment to modern tech, some of their cars have to be older than the fall of the Soviet Union.” Artyom commented as he eyed the ambulance with distaste.

“Not gonna lie, that doesn’t make me very confident about the content of the building.” Vadim said.

He retrieved his rifle from the truck’s cabin and slung it across his back before walking over to the doors and trying out several sets of keys. Behind him, his companions took position to keep an eye on the area.

“Say Boris…” Vadim began while testing keys. “Have you figured out a way to shoot reliably yet? I mean, I don’t know how to go about it when I already need four limbs to walk around.”

“Pistol when moving I think.” He answered. “Otherwise I can’t picture a way to shoot on the move. With a handgun you only need one hand, err claw I mean. Otherwise you can just shoot from a prone position, it’s more accurate anyway.”

“Uh huh.” Vadim acknowledged. “I’d think you could shoot from a sitting position, but I’m not sure about the recoil.”

“What if you brace yourself with your tail?” Boris asked, looking back.

“’cause you got that amount of control on your tail? Mine’s just swaying back and forth without input.”

“I don’t, but I can at least direct it in the direction I wish to. Probably I can figure it out eventually…”

“Good luck with that.” Vadim said sarcastically. “Anyway, it’s open.”

The lobby that greeted them was rather… spartan to put it mildly. The base commander mustn’t have dedicated much in the way of funding to decorating the clinic considering how it was shaping up to be.

If the desk in the entrance showed signs of modern tech and a desire for efficiency, the walls spoke another language, featuring a beige paint that must have been there since the building’s construction, and that had to be a long time.

“Wow, someone really hates interior decoration.” Boris joked. “Watcha want us to do uh, Officer?”

“For now? Let’s just locate their supply storage and have a look around.”

Unfortunately for Vadim, the offices didn’t hold any document he could use because they were all written in Dutch and he doubted Geert would have the medical know-how to translate them.

He did find a British medical encyclopedia though. Someone serving there must have studied in Britain before the cataclysm, not that it mattered to him: he just loaded the five tome publication on a cart before continuing his exploration of the building.

Boris came back to him saying he had found the blood bag storage, so he dragged his cart in the direction of the wing indicated by his subordinate. The other griffon led him to a large room separated from another by a thick glass window.

Eh, now they had found where the entire budget went: a hyperbaric treatment wing. That would make sense if that navy wanted to take care of their divers, he guessed.

Vadim took a look at the refrigerator housing the bags Boris had pointed out. How could he make sure it would be compatible with them? Unlikely to be possible, but worth trying. He started to look through shelves around the room before finding his goal: a blood group test kit. He took two.

“Boris, friend, do you like science?” He asked, opening the kit.

The goshawk griffon by his side stared at him wide eyed. The nature of the question dawned on him and he backed off quickly.

“Come on, you can’t seriously believe our blood would be compatible with human blood?”

“We can’t be certain of either possibility, so it’s worth trying. Worst case scenario, I prick you for nothing. This won’t hurt much, I promise.”

“You’ve been making a lot of those promises recently.” The other griffon scowled. Nevertheless, he held up a forelimb to Vadim.

So both griffons underwent a blood type test, Vadim participating in a show of good faith to his colleague. Much to their surprise, they actually got a result from the test. A negative for both of them. That had Vadim scratching his beak in thought.

“And what do you make of that?” Boris asked him.”Beside the fact that I used to be B negative.”

“Nothing quite yet, and I was O positive. I will have to take some more testing equipment on board for that and try a couple things more, but this tells me enough to want to take those blood bags. What’s the expiration date anyway?”

Boris looked at the fridge.

“Five weeks approximately. I feel like we’re gonna toss them overboard either way.”

“Better have it and not need it than need it and not have it. Leave the fridge plugged for now, we will come back on the return trip to pick it up.”

From that room, Vadim settled for picking up a box of testing kits and transfusion equipment. After a short hesitation, he also added all the testing equipment he could find. He may not be a scientist, but that wouldn’t stop him from trying if it could help him keep his shipmates alive.

In the hyperbaric care center, they found an oxygen concentrator and a large supply of compressed bottles, which they were all too keen to add to the growing pile of equipment on the carts they were pushing.

The two griffons then brought their bounty back to the lobby; only to discover that Artyom had beat them both to the emergency wing. The dragon was smoking a cigarette by the truck, now loaded with several crates of medical supplies, and a safe of moderate size.

“What’s with the safe?” Boris asked.

“Found their controlled drug stash. Got the key for it too.” He said, dangling a set of keys from his claw for emphasis.

“Did you find a fridge filled with medication too?” Vadim said.

“That I did.” The dragon took a drag from his cigarette. “Didn’t load it. Figured you’d want to wait.”

“Correct.” Vadim glanced at the truck, it was already half full. “I think we will already make a trip back to the ship with all that so we can already bring the refrigerated stuff. Spares us from having to come back.”

“We’re only half full though…” Boris muttered.

“The infirmary has room for one more bed. Go grab a gurney, or better, an actual medical bed and some holders for the IV’s, I will get the blood. Artyom?”

“Got it” The dragon said, crushing his cigarette underfoot. “Get the fridge, be there in a minute.”

Fifteen minutes later, they were unloading the supplies at the ship. Vadim hurried to the infirmary to plug in the two fridges before leaving just as quickly as he had come. Geert did try to strike a conversation but there was no way the Ukrainian was getting tricked into staying on board. Just as soon as the last crate went from the truck to the deck, he had Artyom drive it off the ramp and towards to the inner harbor.

Later that evening, Geert was still bedridden in the infirmary. People had come to visit him that day, but it had been rather dull for him to stay stuck in bed like he was. Oh sure, there had been some activity in the morning when they brought in the new medical equipment, but even that was rather short lived. Most on the crew didn’t have any idea how to stow the medical gear besides making certain the fridges were plugged in so they left that work to Vadim who was invariably going to be pissed off about it. Geert could already picture the griffon ranting.

Thankfully, Alejandro had stopped by early in the afternoon to give him a laptop so that he could keep himself busy. The rest of his time had thus been spent looking around on the internet for working servers and retrieve as much data as possible.

Needless to say, the last days had seen the satellite antennas of Amandine being strained to the very limit of their bandwidth, though the data flow was slowly winding down as more and more servers shut down from neglect. It had been almost a week since the cataclysm occurred, and they still had to find traces of activity beyond an injured guard on the first day.

Geert looked to his side. An unconscious injured guard. Vadim had mentioned something about a change in his blood pressure this morning but Geert was too groggy at the time to understand what he actually meant. The unicorn remained hooked to an IV and under constant monitoring and oxygen supply.

Returning to his work on the laptop, he began downloading a dozen paid manuals from maritime websites using the ship’s account. They were slowly losing hope about the situation resolving itself shortly, so he might as well use the money while they still could. It wasn’t even a bad use of their credit since he could easily justify their use for, he checked… A guide to installing new and innovative firefighting solutions. Yeah, that he could justify.

The manuals soon joined the growing collection hosted on the ship’s server banks. They had long passed the 10 terabyte mark from the constant downloading, a fact that Roberto, the ship’s secretary, didn’t miss announcing loudly in the cafeteria according to the rumors he got from outside the infirmary.

The parrot turned his head when he heard a groan to his side. He looked at the unicorn in wonder, could he be waking up already?

The blue unicorn, currently lying on his back, let out a small cough before his eyes fluttered open. He let out a small groan and closed his eyes immediately because of the bright light in the room. He reached for his face with a hoof but stopped upon seeing the appendage.

Looks like someone hasn’t had the time to get acquainted with their new form just yet, Geert thought. The unicorn let out an annoyed snort before turning his attention to the rest of the room.

“So you’re awake?” Geert asked. A rhetorical question of course, but he wanted to catch his attention.

The unicorn’s turned in his direction, eyes wide.

“You’ve been unconscious for a while, how are you feeling?” Geert asked.

That only earned him a confused look. Great, he probably didn’t speak English. Time to try Dutch then.

“Do you speak Dutch?” He tried again, this time getting a nod as an answer. “Can you talk?”

The unicorn shook his head and pointed a hoof at his throat before letting out a raspy breath. Should he make a joke about the guy sounding hoarse? Nah, he didn’t understand English anyway. With some effort, Geert grabbed a crutch by his bed and hoisted himself on his uninjured leg. He hid a wince and made his way to the sink. The unicorn male probably needed some water. All this motion also made him very self-conscious about only being clad in a hospital gown.

Geert tried to help the guard drink a cup of water, since it mustn’t have been very practical with hooves for hands, but he insisted on drinking it by himself. To his credit, he managed to balance the cup between two hooves and get some liquid down his throat without spilling too much water on his own fur.

The parrot sat down on his bed. Standing up had taken more out of him than he wanted to admit. The bedridden unicorn was now reduced to staring at the empty plastic cup he was balancing on two hooves.

“Are you feeling alright?” Geert tried again.

He was feeling that the guard was trying to ignore him, but by the way the large ears on top of his head twitched, he had clearly heard him.

“We found you unconscious three days ago.” Damn, correct as it might have been, it still didn’t feel like it had been that long. “We brought you to our ship and one of our officers did his best to patch you up.”

The unicorn finally deigned to respond to Geert’s attempts at a conversation.

“You, human?” He rasped.

“Yes, about one week ago we were anchored near the sandbanks. We don’t know what caused this yet, but it sent us a couple hours forward in time and turned us into... I would say mythological creatures but there’s so much variety to it it’s frankly ridiculous.” Geert guessed that he meant to ask if he used to be human.

“Variety?” The unicorn asked.

“Kind of, we have griffons, dragons, a minotaur and then some. I don’t even know if there’s an actual name for what I turned into. You’re the first unicorn we find. The first person beside our own crew for that matter. Zeebrugge was completely deserted when we entered the port.”

The unicorn gazed back at his lap for a moment, seemingly deep in thought before pointing to his cup and asking for a refill. Geert hoped he wouldn’t ask too many of those because he was beginning to believe Vadim’s assumption that he would need a few days to recover fully.

“My dog?” The guard asked when Geert handed him his refilled cup.

“He didn’t make it. Too much blood loss.” Geert shook his head. “If it makes you feel better we killed the… things that killed him and injured you, which is how I got hurt by the way. Our cook buried him next to the boatlift.”

“I’ve been working with Samson at my side for the past five years…” The unicorn muttered somberly after finishing his cup. He shook his head. “I’m sorry; when I woke up like this…”He waved a hoof at himself for emphasis. “I first thought it was just a dream but…”

“It’s fine I understand. We still have problems coping with the situation on this ship. Most of us don’t want to admit it and try to get on with our work, but you can see it in their eyes.” Geert comforted him. “Just checking in case we read your dog tags wrong, but you are Bart De Mesmaeker, correct?”

“Correct.” He nodded. “I’m sorry but I didn’t catch your name…” He said.

“Geert De Vries, fourth officer on this ship, the Amandine.” The parrot presented himself, offering his uninjured arm for the unicorn to shake.

Bart hesitated for a brief second before extending a foreleg. Geert just improvised and shook the offered hoof firmly.

“Fourth officer? So you’re not military?”

“No, the Amandine is a merchant vessel, roll-on/roll-off to be exact. I know we weren’t supposed to break in the base but…”

“It’s fine.” Bart interrupted him. “I know I should be mad about that… But I can’t really complain since I would have died otherwise. We’re still in Zeebrugge right?”

“Yes, we’ve been spending the last few days gathering supplies and modifying the ship. I don’t think you will be too happy about it but we took some guns and ammo from the base.”

“Do you guys even have any use for them?”

“Well, we did use them to kill the wood hounds that injured you. Your own pistol took down one.”

Bart let himself fall down against his bed, a scowl on his face.

“How certain are you that everyone is gone?” He asked.

“Pretty certain. Short range we keep looking and only found you. Long range we keep trying to listen on all waves for radio chatter or activity on the web but… Nothing; and internet servers are going down as we speak.”

“Ain’t that fucking fantastic.” Bart muttered. “It’s the apocalypse and I’m already injured and turned into a pastel unicorn… As if the situation wasn’t bad enough in the first place.”

“Wanna talk about it?” Geert asked.

“What, want to hear a sob story?” Bart almost snarled, which would have been rather comical given his current form. “Well here you go: daughter gets killed by a drunkard in a car when going to school, wife divorces me because I’m supposedly responsible even though I was on the other side of the country, then I get demoted to fucking corporal after twenty five years of service and shoved aside to some god-forsaken base nobody gives two shits about because I happened to get caught drunk after my daughter’s burial. AND THEN THIS?!” He yelled the last part. “I mean, for fuck sake, I’ve been to Yugoslavia and Afghanistan, and it wasn’t half as bad as that shit. Karma my ass.”

“Damn, and here I thought my situation was bad.”

“Oh really? And how can you even call it bad? You just turned into something that’s still relatively close to human.”

“Lost my dick in the process tho’” Geert said.

“What, you mean you’re not a girl?” Bart asked, getting a nod from Geert.“Yeah I don’t envy you.”

“You bet…” Geert snorted. “On a more serious note, can you speak English? ‘cause that’s kind of the lingua franca on board.”

Bart shook his head. “I’m afraid not. Never bothered to learn a foreign language. I know bits and pieces of French, a word or two in English but that’s about it.”

“That’s not going to make this easy… at all.” Geert sighed.

“Sorry about that.” Bart shrugged. “I’ve managed to live most of my life without having to learn any foreign language. It never really was necessary.”

“Still, in all likelihood the Captain will want to talk to you. He’s been gathering all the info he can on the cataclysm recently, and I’d be surprised if he didn’t want to hear your own tale.”

“Can you tell me about him?”

“Sure, got plenty of time on my hands anyway. Here’s how it goes…”

And then Geert launched himself into a lengthy explanation on Captain Prateek and the workings of M/V Amandine.

Author's Note

This chapter (and the next one) will be a bit less entertaining with the lack in action, but I felt it was needed to set the scene for the next arc that's coming in two chapters. Large scale action and "big stuff" loses its meaning if you don't build up to it. At least that's the way I see it.

Chapter 11: A Late Night Call

The morning of the 30th saw most of the crew gathered on the main deck for some training in the use of their recently acquired weaponry. Artyom was supervising it, and had gathered the shipmates with the most military experience among the crew to assist him.

Which is how he found himself with a hippogriff and a gargoyle at his side. The hippogriff, Sri, used to be part of his country’s navy whereas the gargoyle, Nikola, had worked for a couple years as an army mechanic.

He had been rather surprised when both of them announced they already had experience with some of the weapon systems they had found at the base. Sri had told him that the Indonesian navy he had worked with in the past apparently used Belgian weapons extensively. Under licensing, of course, but the similarities were there.

They had arranged each of the weapons on a table in front of them to demonstrate their use, with some more in a crate behind them for when they decided to move on to practical manipulations. Fortunately for Artyom, Sri had been kind enough to tell them about the intricacies when they were preparing how to give their lesson. They did experience some difficulties with the more modern weapons, but they wanted to keep them for later anyway since they doubted the crew would be able to use them effectively, with an exception being made for the less-lethal weapons out of necessity.

Artyom quickly checked his list. The Captain had ordered the crew to be divided in two shifts for the lesson. A quick head count told him all were present and ready. With a nod towards his two colleagues, he began his little speech.

“Alright listen up people.” He began, making his way around the table. “We’re now aware that whatever cataclysm happened a week ago apparently also came with its lot of nasty creatures. Case in point, those wood hounds thingies which resulted in the infirmary currently being occupied by two people.”

“It goes without saying that we need a mean of defending ourselves. Thankfully, personal experience has led me to discovering the unsurprising fact that yes; guns do work against walking lumber. Fire too, but that’s beside the point for now. What does matter, is that I make sure that you are able to use those…” He waved at the guns on the table. “To defend yourselves and your shipmates. To that effect, Captain Prateek has authorized me to teach you how to properly use guns.”

“But before we proceed with manipulations, I have to lay the groundwork. We have decided of some… rules and principles that will make sure you using these guns doesn’t endanger your shipmates because you accidentally go and shoot someone. Understood?”

He got a murmur of assent from the crowd around him so he decided to continue.

“Good, we will begin with these, and I will ask again at the end of the three hours we allocated for this lesson, and then once again tonight in the cafeteria. The Chief Officer is already looking into making a regular scheduled training for this, so expect some bi-weekly training if discussion don’ t change too much. Sri and Nikola will deal with the practical manipulations while I deal with the theory, so to speak.”

Artyom turned around and grabbed one of the older assault rifles they had decided to give the crew. It was called a FNC according to Sri. He checked that the weapon wasn’t loaded and then faced the crew.

“This, is a FNC. It stands for Fabrique Nationale, Carbine and will be the main weapon we train you to use. It’s as standard a weapon as it gets before going into Kalashnikov territory. When using it, we have decided to establish five rules which you will remember at all times. Fail to do so, and I will personally make sure you never touch a gun again and to give you the beating of a lifetime. I will also add that those rules are also valid for the use of our less-lethal weapons, including the tasers.”

“Rule one. Always treat a weapon as if it were loaded. It doesn’t matter if you know it is not chambered and there is no magazine on it, most firearm accidents occurred with weapons that were assumed to be unloaded. Furthermore, it has been decided with the Captain that we will not walk around with ammunition in the chamber. We will only chamber a round in presence of a threat. Questions?”

There were none so he continued.

“Rule two. Never point your weapon at something you are not willing to shoot. That means you don’t go waving your gun at people for fun, and that you always make sure the barrel isn’t aimed at someone because you were not paying attention.” Artyom said, walking around the crewmembers assembled in half a circle around the table.

“Take note, that as I walk around right now, the tip of the barrel is never pointed towards any of you. You will have to make certain you don’t do so, particularly when you have a weapon on your back in a sling or when someone passes by you. If you follow this one rule, chances are that even in case of accidental discharge, nobody will be hurt.”

“Rule three. Your finger, or claw, or talon, whatever you call it nowadays, must remain off the trigger until your target is in your sights and you are ready to shoot. This is to ensure that in case of fall or surprise, you do not accidentally press the trigger.”

“Rule four. Be conscious of your target and its environment, as well as yours. These guns are powerful, and the bullets can go through a lot of surfaces. They will stay deadly even after ricocheting. Understand these implications, and you will understand that there is a very real risk of the bullet going through your target to damage dangerous materials on the other side, or the chance of a missed shot ricocheting and injuring an ally.”

“You must also remember that some of the ammunition we use is tracers. They can be a fire hazard, and can sometimes set vegetation on fire, let alone explosive gas clouds. Rule four also implies that you know the risks of shooting a weapon in an enclosed space, and I’m talking about the sound of the discharge.”

Saying that, the dragon tapped the set of ear defenders around his neck for emphasis.

“Using hearing protection is heavily advised, though I understand it is not always possible to spare the time to put them on when you detect a threat.” Artyom stopped to think for a moment.

“For rule number four, also take into account what is around you. That can be a shipmate who may need to pass in front or close to you. Moving around, you must also pay attention and avoid losing your footing with a loaded weapon. Sri and Nikola will explain later about how to get a correct firing position which will make sure to decrease the risk of having your firing disrupted.”

Artyom paused again and surveyed the crowd to make sure everyone was following. He had notes to give them about it but that could wait for later. Not giving them anything for now would ensure they paid attention, if the prospect of not shooting their comrades wasn’t enough of an incentive.

“At last, rule number five. Never leave a weapon alone. Unless they are stored in the armory, which will be the ship’s vault until we build one, you must always have your weapon by your side. I don’t even want to hear about it being safe if it’s left in a vehicle, those guns gotta stay glued to you. The only exception allowed will be if it’s in the hands of someone else, and even then I want you all to be able to tell who and where that person is. Copy?”

Everyone nodded in answer, so Artyom made his way to a weapon crate by the table. He opened it to reveal some more rifles, as well as a few pistols.

“Excellent then. Everyone line up to get a rifle, I want the quadrupeds to go with Sri, bipeds with Nikola. We will do the pistols later.” Artyom put his rifle back on the table and grabbed a machinegun instead. He looked through the crowd and waved at the ship’s sole minotaur, Angelo.

“Angelo, big guy, you’re not getting a rifle. Wouldn’t fit with those fingers of yours anyway.”

The minotaur stopped and looked at the boatswain curiously. Artyom presented him the machinegun.

“It’s not gonna be easy since the gun’s a lot more complicated than a mere assault rifle, but I want you to take that.”

Angelo easily hefted the enormous gun in his arms. With the sheer size of the minotaur, it looked like he was just holding a regular weapon instead of 12 kilos worth of firepower.

“Yeah I can get behind that decision bosun.” Angelo said with a smile. “Feels rather light.” He added.

“Only to you big guy, trust me. Now get over here, it’s lesson time and you will need it.”

Dilip looked down through his cabin’s window at the crewmen training. They were now practicing their manipulations with inert rounds.

He dearly hoped Artyom would be able to whip the crew into shape so that they could avoid a repeat of the wood hound incident. Vadim had had to adjust his estimation on how long it would take for both of their casualties to recover.

The unicorn being stuck with stitches for a week or two didn’t bother him overly much, though he would be interested to meet the guy when Vadim told him he was ready for visitation. No, what annoyed him to no end was that his youngest officer, and most importantly his only officer that could speak the local tongue, would be walking around on crutches for up to two months thanks to that dislocated hip.

The dog Captain served himself a cup of tea. A nice dose of Darjeeling always did wonders to soothe his nerves. He turned away from the window and focused back on the files on his desk.

He quickly skipped through most of the files that were just the usual fare of the maintenance schedules and timetables. Those were already good and didn’t need much reviewing. A quick stamp, a signature, and then they were already going through the scanner before he had time to bother about them too much.

What actually mattered at the moment were the proposals he had to go through regarding modifications to the ship. His Chief Engineer hadn’t spared him with the volume, he thought, glancing at the stack of documents. He took a sip of his tea before starting.

A proposal to extend the fixed firefighting systems to the added areas was quickly approved, as well as the installation of a carbon dioxide compressor in the dedicated storage so that they could refill the fixed bottles and the fire extinguishers. Dilip put a high priority on protecting the new vehicle fuel tanks, and their ammunition storage, which he ordered to be put close to the bow on the main deck.

No need to put the explosives at the heart of the vessel if they could help it. Dangerous goods were supposed to be carried on deck and not in the holds. He did order a system to fill the storage with foam in case of fire though.

He selected a new area to install the future armory, making sure to keep it close to the new workshop to facilitate maintenance work on the weapons. It was a good thing they had retrieved an ultrasonic bath for weapon cleaning, he thought, he never particularly liked having to waste hours upon hours cleaning them.

Thinking about some ships he had seen doing fluvial navigation, he put a note for the crew to try to find a rhib equipped with sounding equipment. If they were truly alone, then soundings would become increasingly unreliable as time went on. A boat sounding the waters ahead of them might help with that… somewhat.

His work was interrupted by his phone ringing. An internal call.

“Good morning Captain, Third Officer Zinoviya from the infirmary. You wanted to visit Corporal De Mesmaeker as soon as possible I recall?”

“Yes Vadim. Is he ready?”

“He is sir. Though there may be some difficulties in the process. The Corporal doesn’t speak English.”

“That’s a bit of a problem indeed. Any solution?”

“Already got one. De Vries does the translation.”

“Good work. I’m coming down in a minute, just finishing some paperwork.” Dilip concluded before hanging up.

As he scanned his completed documents, Dilip’s gaze drifted over another stack of files. It was in that one that he had gathered all the available data on the cataclysm, and his assumptions on it.

Hopefully this De Mesmaeker would be able to shed some light on the problem…

Back in the infirmary, things were rather quiet. Vadim had just finished examining Bart’s state and had finally bothered to remove his catheter (Geert on the bed next to them winced in sympathy).

“Vadim says your wound is already showing signs of healing. Provided there is no infection, you should be able to put some weight on your forelimbs within a week, and removing the stitches within two weeks.” Geert translated the griffon’s explanation to the Belgian patient.

The parrot was still keeping himself busy with his laptop, but finding working websites was becoming a challenge in itself. With an annoyed snort at his last search result, he glanced at Vadim.

“What are you doing with all that blood?”

The griffon was hunched over a set of blood vials and an encyclopedia in a corner of the infirmary. Vadim was busily jotting down notes in a booklet as he leafed through the massive book.

“I’m trying to figure out the blood types that go with our new species. Still only doing the griffons for now… And even then I’m not too sure about the results.”

“Care to explain? It’s not like I have too much to do and having someone to explain it to might clear up your thoughts.”

“Here’s the thing. I made all the griffons on board take a test and stored the samples. All came back with the same type: A negative. What I want to know is if the test detects all the variables I want or what it detects.”

“Why don’t you just mix it with human A negative blood and see if it coagulates?”

“I don’t want to waste either the stored blood or the samples if I can help it. Would be a shame to do that if the encyclopedia just tells me I’m wrong without requiring any test.”

“Then again the encyclopedia doesn’t know shit about aliens.”

“Aliens?” Vadim smiled.

“You got a better word for it? I could also say gopnik with a beak problem.”

Before Vadim had the time to think up an answer, Dilip walked in the room and both officers immediately straightened up.

“Greetings gentlemen.” The Captain said. “How are our patients doing?”

“Good sir.” Vadim answered. “Nothing alarming for both of them.”

“And the recovery time?”

“I estimate De Vries to be mobile and on crutches within days, but if the encyclopedia is accurate.” He tapped his book with a talon for emphasis. “Then he should be stuck on crutches for a while. Up to two months.”

The Captain looked towards the bedridden unicorn in the room, who looked at him curiously.

“And what of De Mesmaeker?”

“Mobile within a week, and I estimate two weeks until removal of his stitches.”

Dilip nodded and turned to address Geert.

“Can you tell Corporal De Mesmaker I wish to ask him a few questions? It’s about the cataclysm.”

Geert translated the request and Bart perked up. He pushed back in his bed to straighten up a bit and made a motion with his hoof indicating for the Captain to ask away. Dilip took a seat by the bed and leaned forward.

“I need you to try to remember what happened immediately before and after you woke up as a unicorn. What time it was, when you woke up, and if you noticed anything beside your change of form. That sort of thing.”

It took a minute after Geert translated for Bart to collect his thoughts.

“I was on patrol at the time. I think it was around 02.30, maybe 02.45. That’s the time I usually choose to do my first round around the base. I was inside at the time, just checking that all offices were closed. Nothing unusual with that, and I had taken Samson along because he was getting antsy staying inside all night.” The unicorn shivered at the thought of his deceased dog. “Then my walkie-talkie started crackling. Usually it happens when the reception isn’t too good so I tried to leave the building. I thought the guys at the guard post were trying to call me; they were a bit pissed off because I wanted to do my patrol alone. Had a lot on my mind at the time you see. Next thing I know there’s this flash in sky. I caught some copper-ish smell and then it was full blackout.”

“02.30? Are you sure it’s not 01.30?” Geert asked.

“Negative.” The unicorn shook his head. “I always go on patrol at the same time. Why? Did it happen at another time for you?”

“Captain, were we on Belgian or English time on the 23rd?” Geert asked his superior.

“Belgian, why?”

“He says it occurred at 02.30 in Zeebrugge. A full hour after us.”

“Keep asking. Try to get him to tell you when he woke up if he knows.” Dilip paused. “If he knows, did he get a sort of ‘wave’ feeling from the event? That it progressed in a direction?”

One translation later, and the Captain had more questions than he started with. Bart’s tale was that the wave came from the North-West, contrarily to its western origin when it affected Amandine.

That eliminated the possibility of it having progressed parallel to meridians.

Another thing was that the time when he woke up was different. Bart wasn’t sure about the exact time, and it was even more inaccurate because his memory was skewed due to being unconscious for a while after being attacked, but he did tell them that he woke up in the evening. Bart also told them more about what followed, his dog finding him and recognizing him (probably due to his smell).

He reported detecting some kind of lightning bolt striking down near the base later in the night, when he was still figuring out how to move around. He told them he was still in the office building at the time, but that he had to discard his pants to move around unhindered.

“And when were you attacked?”

“Minutes after the lightning bolts. I heard the howling before I saw them just as I was getting out of the building. I forgot my holster in the commotion but I… panicked somehow and ran away. Which is odd, since I could barely walk before but it felt like my fight or flight reflex was skewed. The rest… They cornered me close to the warehouse and I threw myself through a window. Got some mild cuts but the coup de grace came from one of those… What do you call them?”

“For now? Wood hounds.”

“Yeah, one of them jumped through the window and pounced on me. It ran away when Samson bit it though. That dog had titanium teeth you know, lost his regular teeth in a car accident. Didn’t stop the hound from harming though. I couldn’t walk away with all my injuries, so I just bled there until you found me. How long do you think I was there?”

“Can’t tell I’m afraid. Maybe we could if we had access to the CCTV cameras…”

Bart shook his head and told Geert he couldn’t grant that request. Only Officers had access to the archived videos. He only had live feed access.

Dilip thanked him nonetheless for his contribution to the investigation before deciding to return to his quarters. He wanted to add this data to his files as soon as possible, and still had quite a load of documentation to wade through in addition to that.

“You think your Captain would object to me joining your crew?” Bart asked.

“Depends.” Geert shrugged. “From my own experience with him, if you can justify your presence on board by being useful, then it’s unlikely he would refuse. Why the question? You want to stick with us?”

“It’s not like there’s a lot of things keeping me there. Family? Gone. House? Wife got it in the divorce.” He glared at the ceiling. “It’s the apocalypse and there’s nobody left. In any case, I’d rather stick with people I can’t even talk to than wind up alone and go crazy from loneliness.”

“Eh, as long as you’re fine with that. I can bring it up later with other crewmembers if you want. Don’t you have gear that you’d want to retrieve or something? I bet we can work something out.”

“Well, I live far from here, so I usually stay at the barracks deeper inland on another base. But there’s my car on the parking lot where I keep my personal belongings and some spare clothes.”

Geert quickly asked Vadim if they could send a salvage team to get Bart’s belongings. The unicorn provided the number on his license plate and his car’s description. It was on the base’s parking lot so getting it would pose little trouble.

“Say, I had the keys on my uniform when I transformed. Did you put it somewhere?” Bart asked.

“The shirt was a bust with all the blood on it, but someone brought in the pants. We packed them and the shirt’s contents in a bag. It’s under your bed.”

Vadim was kind enough to get the keys from the bag at Geert’s request, though he was a bit annoyed at being forced to stop his ‘experimentation’. He left to give them to one of the salvage teams.

Now alone in the infirmary with Bart, Geert quickly began to get annoyed at the lack of work. He was straight out of websites to explore. The metaphorical light bulb lit up in his mind.

“Hey, you need something to pass the time?” He asked Bart.

“I wouldn’t mind it. Why?” The unicorn didn’t even have a laptop to pass the time, so the answer was rather expected.

“Just thinking you could use some improvised English lessons.”

“Ah fuck it, better than nothing. Where do you wanna start?”

Dilip was making his way up to his quarters when a shipmate stopped him by the cafeteria. Nikola, he recognized, the gargoyle was called.

“Sir, there’s something you need to see.” He said. “It’s Farkas…”

The Captain gave his subordinate a critical look. The gargoyle looked more surprised than actually alarmed, so it shouldn’t be too serious.

“Is it his injuries?” Dilip asked.

“No sir, it has to do with the lack of hands. You won’t believe it ‘til you see it.” Nikola answered, already opening the door to the cafeteria.

There was a gathering in the center of the room. Dilip caught some snippets of conversation about ‘sorcery’ and ‘witchcraft’ coming from a couple of the gathered crewmembers.

And right in the center of the crowd, the Captain could spot the unmistakably large silhouette of a sphinx facing in the opposite direction. His Chief Steward even, if the blue mane was any indication. Dilip recalled that Farkas had been particularly distraught since he lost both his gender and his hands, but the way he held his head seemed to indicate something had eventually managed to make a dent in his sour mood.

The dog easily pushed pushed his way through the crowd, everyone making way at the sight of their Captain.

“What’s going on here?” Dilip asked in an authoritative tone.

Farkas turned around, and the Greek turned female sphinx gave the Captain a bright smile.

“Good morning Captain. Nothing hazardous I assure you.” Farkas began. “I have just discovered the solution to my little ‘hand problem’.”

“Beyond using your mouth you mean?” Dilip asked, arms crossed.

“Yes sir, though the solution only came to me after experiencing after… an expressive release of frustration, to say it politely.”

The Captain just raised an eyebrow. Farkas resumed his explanation after a short pause.

“To explain it shortly… It appears sphinxes are able to move objects around without making contact with them.”

“Excuse me? Are you trying to tell me you can use telekinesis?”

Not that he never appreciated jokes, but he really had better stuff to do than entertain pranks from crewmembers, regardless of their position in the pecking order. Bizarrely, Farkas nodded firmly at Dilip’s incredulous question.

“That’s the word sir. Been practicing it for the past hour.”

Before Dilip had the time to dismiss what Farkas was saying, the front pocket of the sphinx’s coveralls was surrounded in a blue glow and opened by itself. A pencil rose up in the air out of the pocket and floated in front of Dilip’s muzzle.

The Captain, being an experienced sailor, had a reaction which would be considered very typical in the profession.

“What the shit Farkas, you’ve got ten seconds to explain that fucking witchcraft to me before I shove a kilo of salt down your throat to purge whatever spirits you got up your arse.”

The pencil floated back to Farkas’ pocket and the glow disappeared. Dilip noted that Farkas’ fur deflated a bit when he dropped the levitation. He had barely noticed how much attention the Chief Steward had to devote to the task.

“It’s an assumption, but I assume sphinxes developed that ability to make up for their lack of hands to manipulate tools. I still need to focus quite a lot to do it and the finer control is… inaccurate, but I estimate I can improve it with some training. From what I feel, it’s done by something in the vertebral column. Feels like flexing an invisible muscle.”

Dilip crossed his arms and looked down at the sphinx in thought. Time travel, wooden creatures, unicorns and fire breathing dragons… and now straight up magic. This End of the World was starting to go down in an extremely weird fashion.

But he’d be a fool not to make use of something like that when it presented itself on a silver platter. This was the chance he had been waiting for to get the sphinxes on the crew back to work.

“You think you can teach the other sphinxes how to do that?”

“With a few spare hours sir, probably.”

Dilip nodded and ordered the Chief Steward to do just that. He excused himself from the cafeteria and resumed his trip back to his quarters.

Sure it was good to have a solution for the sphinxes’ problems but that had just made his investigation of the Event even more complicated.

Later that evening after diner, Vadim found himself inside his cabin, finally enjoying some free time. He had decided to temporarily halt his pseudo-research with the blood late in the afternoon when he started to get frustrated at the lack of progress.

Better stop trying before he threw a vial against the wall in frustration. He still had plenty of time before the blood bags expired.

Vadim checked the time. Eight o’clock, work done for the day (the Captain had expressly told the crew work on the modifications was to be halted during the night), and no watch to be done since the ratings had that covered for the night.

All in all, as good a chance as he could hope for to catch up on his reading, Vadim thought with a smile. He grabbed a random book and bottle of liquor before installing himself comfortably at his desk. A report on the battle of Kursk , accompanied with a serving of… He checked the bottle. Pàlinka, exotic, but not too much. He served himself a small glass and began his reading.

Minutes later he stopped to open the zipper on the back of his coveralls to let his wings hang free. He had noticed the appendages were particularly prone to cramping when he leaned on them too much. The two large grey wings hung limply on either side of his chair, and his tail was passed through a hole in the back of his chair for comfort.

He had tried to gain some control over his new appendages, but since the Captain’s order on not attempting to take flight (for obvious safety reasons, he didn’t blame Dilip on that), he was rather limited in opportunities to try them out. He did make some attempts at moving them around, but his best efforts only resulted in the foreign and very sensitive limbs twitching aimlessly.

At least when it came to his tail he did manage to keep it out of doorways. That he had been very quick to learn, particularly when you remembered how bulky weathertight doors and hatches can be.

Vadim downed his glass in one go. Pàlinka had the benefit of being supposed to be served at room temperature and he took an immediate liking to the fruity liquid when he first visited Hungary something like three years ago. With a pleased sigh, he let the burning flavor of apricot make its way down his throat. God knows he needed a release after all the weird shit that had occurred that week.

He almost couldn’t believe it had already been a week since he woke up as a griffon. He glared down at the prominent beak on his face.

There were so many things he had had to relearn since then. Even going to the freaking toilet had been a learning experience, and that’s not even mentioning how he had to develop an entirely new technique to consume liquids.

Yeah beaks aren’t particularly good for that unless you got some practice. Micha had been very helpful with that. The Second Officer had been quite quick on the uptake when it came to the changes, but he had always known the Pole like that. The guy turned gal had a knack for figuring things out in short order, and always made sure to use his wit whenever possible.

Pity that didn’t extend to medical knowledge. The other griffon had been willing to provide a sample but had almost recoiled in horror at the prospect of looking into their biology.

His historical reading was brought to a halt when someone knocked on his door. Now who would be brave enough to separate him from finding out about the strategic implication of the loss of Axis armored divisions?

“Vadim? You in there?” Came Micha’s voice.

Speak of the Devil…

“It’s open.” He answered, already closing his book.

The other griffon walked in the room. He was clad in the usual orange nomex coveralls used on the ship, with safety shoes and the gloves the quadrupeds on the crew had taken to wearing at all times (for the sake of hygiene). Contrarily to Vadim, who was a grey falcon/cougar mix, Micha had been turned into a bald eagle/wildcat type griffon. The only thing out of the ordinary with his appearance (beyond the fact that he was a female griffon, but that was already established) was the highlighted green feathers around his eyes, which stood out starkly against the rest of the white plumage.

Vadim had a hard time believing they were natural, but he had been inclined to believe Micha’s claim that they indeed were.

Micha quickly closed the door with a kick of his hind leg, not looking the least bit worried but not too enthusiastic either.

“So…” Vadim started, turning his chair around. “To what do I owe your presence? Has anything happened?”

“Not at all don’t worry.” Micha shook his head, though Vadim did take note of how the Pole was trying to keep the pitch in his voice down. It seemed he wasn’t so stoic about his change. “Call this a personal visit.” He said, switching to Polish.

“Got something on your mind uh?” Vadim gestured for Micha to take a seat on his bed. “First off, want a glass?” He asked, pointing to his bottle of liquor.

“Yes please, feels like I need something to sort out those emotions.” Micha said, taking a seat on Vadim’s bed.

Vadim took a moment to serve his comrade and himself a new glass. The other griffon gingerly accepted the small glass.

“How do you deal with it?” Micha asked.

“I don’t.” Vadim admitted. “All the implications of this whole catastrophe… So far I’ve avoided thinking about it too much.” He furtively threw a glance at the framed photo on his desk. “God knows I had plans… Not that it really matters anymore. We weren’t really given a choice, were we?”

“You really think that course of action will do?”

“Fuck no, it won’t.” Vadim said, downing his second glass and already going for another. “I know one day or another I will have to face it. I just… can’t get around to approaching the question for now. You?”

“Listen Vadim, I know I’ve been quite critical in the past about your work ethics…”

“No shit.”Vadim interrupted.

Micha cast him a piercing gaze, and Vadim had the presence of mind to look the slightest bit apologetic.

“Despite how… abrasive you may be. I still consider you a friend.”

“So do I. But I thought that fact was pretty much established. What are you getting at?”

“You still have hope don’t you?” Micha said, letting his gaze drift in the direction of Vadim’s framed photo.

“And what of it? You want me to just give up? To completely forget about the ones I wanted to build a life with?” Vadim glared at the bald eagle griffon. “You don’t think we will ever see our families again.”

“I have a wife you know. An expecting wife I should add.” Micha said. “And along with her an old father to take care of. But I couldn’t afford to finance them if I stayed ashore.” He downed his glass. “Don’t come at me with a feeling of loss about a hypothetical family that had yet to be made. I got to live with the thought that my wife had to live through the apocalypse without her husband by her side and that stings a lot. But I didn’t come to hold some kind of misery pissing contest… Pointless since I find myself lacking in the dick department to fulfill the criteria.” He added with a wry grin on his beak.

“And why did you come?” Vadim asked, passing Micha the bottle of Pàlinka.

The other griffon moved to refill his own glass, but stopped mid-motion and instead took a sip from the bottle.

“I’m one of those who think it’s better to bear a plight in a duo rather than carrying the burden on your lonesome.” He passed the bottle back to Vadim. “You and I both know we can’t go to the ratings to dump our misery on them, and Alejandro was never a family guy to begin with. Still feel like you got nothing you want to let loose?”

Vadim glared for a couple seconds at Micha. He then shook his head with a sad smile before taking a swig from the bottle.

“You’re an asshole. A good, smart friend, but still… Kind of an asshole to go to your friends with things like that.”

“I do what’s needed.” Micha stated. “And I know you do too. I know what’s said tonight won’t ever leave the room.”

Vadim took another swig from the bottle. The strong liquor was starting to have an effect. Another shot or two and he would be just right where he wanted.

“Fine. You win. But I get to start.”

“Let loose buddy.”

And he did. That night, Vadim opened up his heart and, through the fog of alcohol, let go of the bigger part of his sorrow at the loss of his family, of his home, of his own body. It all came to him as if he had opened a floodgate, and he didn’t stop the tears from coming. He knew Micha wouldn’t hold it against him, because he was also at his friend’s side when the white feathered griffon revealed his own sorrow. Micha had great expectations for his life, all stolen, like the unborn kid he had left behind with his wife on the quays of Gdansk. The male turned female even revealed his worries about the loss of his gender to his colleague, which the other griffon did his best to appease.

Both officers finished the bottle of liquor that night, and if anybody asked them about what was said in Vadim’s cabin, both would later tell they didn’t remember anything because of the alcohol.

Later that night, in the Captain’s quarters, Dilip was still working his way through paperwork. The quantity wasn’t nearly as egregious as what he would see if the port authorities hadn’t been wiped out by an apocalypse so bizarre no religion in the world had managed to come up with the idea.

It just took him some time to wade through it because of how unusual it was. Regular paperwork he was used to was almost muscle memory. Modifications plans and salvage priority queues on the other hand, those he had to check out several times before signing.

The bipedal dog was putting the finishing touches on a standing order indicating to prioritize diesel engine vehicles for the sake of not having too much fuel diversity when he got a call on the intercom from the bridge. Odd, but not uncommon, he thought as he unhooked the handset.

“Good evening Captain, this is Able-Bodied seaman Stanislav on the bridge.” Dilip recalled he was one of the Ukrainians on the crew, he had turned into a hippogriff if he recalled correctly. “I have just received a call from an unknown source on the SATCOM; phone number indicates the caller isn’t a ship or a coast station. It’s a videoconferencing request.”

Now that was odd. All lines go dead for a week and now he gets a call from an unknown source.

“Patch him through to my quarters, but try to look in our database if we have a number on the station the call is going through or if it’s an independent antenna.”

“Right away sir. Switching call to your work station… Now.” Stanislav said before hanging up.

In front of him, Dilip’s computer screen was overtaken by a black screen. The live feed needed a few seconds before coming through, so the Captain took the time to connect the microphone and quickly check the webcam. All good.

The screen slowly resolved itself to present Dilip with… An actual human, what the hell? On his screen was an Indonesian looking man, about forty-years old with graying but well styled hair. The man had a goatee and wore executive glasses and a dark business suit. Dilip tried to make out what was behind the man, but he could only see a dark nondescript office and the man’s leather office chair.

The Captain eyed the man with a wary eye before leaning back in his chair. Better let him begin and explain himself.

“Good evening Captain Prateek. I suppose you are quite surprised at what your screen is showing you, correct?” The man began with a small grin on his face.

“That would be an understatement.” Dilip said slowly. “Before we begin, I don’t think it would be courteous of me to start throwing questions around without even knowing the name of my interlocutor.”

“Excuse the rudeness Captain” The man said in a falsely apologetic manner. “You may call me Agent Eko. I am a representative of the organizations known as the Human Preservation Initiative, HPI for short. You may be curious as to how we found out abou…”

“You found us logged in to the maritime satellite network, traced the number back to the ship and did your bit of research. It’s not rocket science if you have the means to do it, data on Amandine can be found on plenty of websites.” Dilip cut the man. “And I’m wearing my uniform, so it’s easy to see that I’m the Captain. Please don’t insult my intelligence just for the sake of gloating; the transformation doesn’t hinder my mental faculties.” He continued with a scowl.

“Pardon me then, and let’s cut to the core of the issue.” Eko said, not sounding the least bit offended by the outburst. “My organization is a secret endeavor founded some fifty years ago after the signature of an agreement by the UN Security Council. We are devoted to the cause of making humanity survive this catastrophe. For a long time our task was to develop the technologies that would allow humanity to make it through. Last week, the time finally came for us to see if we were ready.”

“I can see that worked out alright. Shame humanity didn’t get to profit from it.” Dilip said wrily, deciding not to pick up on the fifty years part… yet.

“’Alright’ is a relative term Captain.” Eko said. “This catastrophe has been followed by the arrival of a unknown radiation that is deadly to the human nervous system. The only reason I am alive and unaffected right now is thanks to prototype shielding technology relying on a generator that’s a tenth of the size of your own vessel. Should it fail, I would die a gruesome death within seconds. I do not consider myself as being in any better situation than you, thanks to being confined to a bunker deep under the ground. If our expectations are correct, never again will I have the opportunity of feeling a breeze on my skin or even the touch of natural light. ” Eko started drawing a pattern with his fingers on his desk as he said that last phrase. Dilip contemplated taunting the agent, but caught himself before doing that. Better extract as much intel as he could from the guy.

“I don’t suppose you could shed some light on the matter of this whole catastrophe…” Dilip said.

“Only to a certain extent. Much as I like to think otherwise, I am but a cog in the machine. I am afraid an explanation is not the reason behind my call tonight; for there are far more pressing concerns that need to be addressed. I can however tell you the reason behind this whole thing is more unbelievable than you could ever think, and that even with the best efforts of several world powers, the human population, by which I mean, those that have remained human thanks to shielding, has fallen down to the triple digits.”

“And what is more pressing than the apocalypse?”

“Another apocalypse; not caused by an external cause, but by our own lust for nuclear power. You see, our organization owns three large scale underground facilities. I may not disclose the exact location of two of them; just tell you they are in East Asia and North America. Our third one however, is believed to be lost with all hands. Each facility was equipped with a different prototype of shielding to increase our chances of survival, since we had no idea which shielding system would turn out to be the right one. Asia’s prototype held, but resulted in severe casualties and mutations on the personnel, which severely limits their acting capability for now.”

“Mutations? They transformed, didn’t they?”

“I may not say. What concerns us is that each facility was part of a network that gave us a backdoor access to all nuclear reactors so we could shut them down and monitor them remotely. Unfortunately, our facilities do not share these accesses for reasons decided by the Security Council prior to the catastrophe, meaning we can’t access the network of the fallen facility. This gets worse.”

“How worse? You just admitted that an entire continent of nuclear plants can pull a Fukushima on us anytime from now.”

“We have had a problem with the Belgian reactors. They were scheduled to be decommissioned this year, but the country’s main electricity provider decided to extend their lifetime recently due to not having a replacement for their energy output.”

“You don’t have a backdoor access on those.”

“We don’t.” Eko nodded. “But the situation can be salvaged. We may not be able to intervene from our bunkers… But you can.”

“I think someone gave you the wrong intel there. You seem to believe me and my shipmates are in any way trained to manipulate nuclear reactors.”

“We are aware of what you can exactly do. IMO certifications ensure us of that, but I am afraid you will be forced to step out of your comfort zone. Do you know how many nuclear reactors there are in France alone?”

“Something like, 10 maybe?” Dilip guessed.

“There are 58 of them Captain Prateek. We are talking about 61 Gigawatts of power under risk of meltdown, and that’s just below half of Europe’s nuclear power.” The fur may have hidden the dog paling at the revelation, but the way his ears drooped were enough of a tell. “You are the only operational ship in the world at the moment, and the only person we have been able to reach in such a manner. We can’t even ask someone else, and we know marine engineers are the best we can hope for. Be ensured that my superiors aren’t much happier about this turn of event than you are, but we can’t run the risk of the next returning person we manage to reach being a handless hairdresser.”

Dilip suddenly let out a barking laugh. He kept laughing for a couple seconds, Eko giving the Captain a bewildered look, before the dog managed to stop.

“I’m sorry, I just never thought someone would pull the ‘only you can save the world’ jig on me.”

“Captain this is a serious matter…”

“I know, I know. I believe you; nuclear plants need to be dealt with. Don’t think it hasn’t crossed my mind before. But I doubt we can even do it.”

“We can help with that. We have nuclear engineers in our organization. Should you accept this task, I will e-mail you contact details so that we can arrange telephonic guidance.”

“I don’t have much of a choice do I? I can refuse, but what is it worth if it’s only to plunge the world in nuclear fallout. Consider it accepted, but I will need more details.”

“Excellent decision Captain. You may want to grab something to take notes…”

“Been recording this all along, sunshine. That old seadog here wasn’t born yesterday.” Dilip said with a smug smile. That was a nice pun by his standards (which his Chief Officer would accuse of being pretty low when he saw the replay of the conversation).

Eko didn’t even waver at the claim, instead taking a sheet of paper in his hands.

“Very well. There are three objectives that need to be taken care of. First one is the nuclear power plant of Doel, near Antwerp. That one should be easy to reach for you since it’s along the river Scheldt and close to a container terminal.”

Dilip was pretty sure he had seen that plant at least a dozen times in his career. Wouldn’t be hard to find indeed.

“Next one is the only other Belgian nuclear power plant beside Doel. Tihange it is called; situated close to the town of Huy along the river Meuse. You will need to break in the control room, from where our specialists will be able to guide you. Those two are the power plants that need to be shut down.”

“And the last objective?”

“I was coming to it. It’s in close proximity to another nuclear station, but the station is NOT the objective. The location of our third large scale installation is, or rather, was in a Cold War era bunker buried under a hill next to the station. Your crew will have to break in -on their own I’m afraid since satellite connection won’t reach underground- and get to the control room to reactivate transmissions with my own facility so that we may regain control over the European reactors.”

“Forgetting to tell the actual location now?” Dilip pointed out.

“Pardon me; it’s on the French-Belgian border, still along the river Meuse. The town is called Chooz. You’re looking for the old reactor bunker; the installation is right beneath it.”

Dilip crossed his arms in thought. Breaking the news to the crew would be hard, and figuring out a way to do it all…

“Captain?” Eko asked, not sure the Captain was listening.

“I’m sorry. Just thinking about the… practical side of this, is all. What were you saying?”

“Just giving you a warning. For one we do not know what went on in our European installation, and for second, our latest risk assessment gives you about one week before the reactors go in the red.”

“Is that all?”

“Yes Captain…” Eko paused. “And good luck.”

“The wish is appreciated but we won’t need luck, only sheer competence. And Eko?”

“Yes?”

“Explanations will be owed after this, you do realize?”

“On my honor Captain.” The agent concluded before hanging up.

Dilip sighed. Tonight was going to be one hell of a night.

Author's Note

Next chapter is already partially written, but delays with the publication next week are possible due to a busy schedule and multiple sorties at sea within a short span of time. I will try to keep to the weekly updating, but that's no guarantee.

This chapter further illustrates how this story deviates from actual PaP canon. I decided to 'globalize' the HPI somewhat, and their operational capabilities are nowhere near as good as they should be, which will force them to interact more with other factions around the globe.

Chapter 12: Roadtrip Down South

“You want us to do WHAT?” Schmitt yelled in a shrill voice.

Dilip shook his head; he was standing in front of the projector screen in his office. It was starting to get late and he really wanted to get some sleep, but he had to give his department heads the bad news.

This is how he found himself giving a PowerPoint briefing to Farkas, Alejandro, Schmitt and Artyom. The last one may not have been as expressive as the rest, but the smoke wafting from the dragon’s nostrils pointed to his less than ideal mood.

“I want you to assemble a team lead by one of our engineering officers, make your way to a nuclear power station, and follow instructions to shut it down.” The Captain repeated calmly.

“This is plain crazy! We’re not suited for that task.” Schmitt contested.

“I know we aren’t, and it’s even clearer for you out of all of us. Regardless…” The Captain waved a paw in the direction of the window. “We’ve all seen it. Everybody… Pardon, almost everybody is gone. But that doesn’t mean the reactors are gone, and they are a matter that must be addressed, and quickly. There may be other survivors out there, but they will never get their chance if someone doesn’t put shut those reactors down. That HPI organization… I don’t trust them, but that doesn’t mean they don’t have a point.”

“And here we go with that so-called HPI Captain… You know how shady they sound?” Alejandro interjected.

“I do, nothing good ever comes from the UN’s Security Council, and if it’s considered a classified secret by their standards… I expect the worst. Which is why the team I want to send investigating their installation will be armed, preferably heavily.”

Schmitt stood up and approached the projector. He pointed a claw at a cross indicating Tihange on the projected map.

“The installation thing with handing over the controls to the HPI, that much I can get behind, easy enough. What matters to me is… None of my guys has any training with these things. We don’t have any leeway. One step to the wrong side and…” He made a cutting motion with his claws “We plunge Europe into a nuclear catastrophe the likes of which hasn’t been seen since ’86, and we forever ruin any hope of humanity recovering from this apocalypse. No pressure.”

“For what’s left of humanity…” Farkas said somberly. The Greek was still nursing the wounds from his fall earlier that week, though they were healing rather quickly.

Dilip crossed his arms.

“I may have a theory on that. After I interrogated our dear unicorn survivor, it appeared the fellow reappeared at a different time than us. It’s a wild conjecture but it may be possible that other survivors would reappear at a later date.”

“Implying?” Alejandro asked.

“It’s just a theory for now…” Dilip shrugged. “But more people could come back after the cataclysm. For me to verify that would require us to find more survivors, but that’s my first assumption. And if it’s true, that means people would start reappearing in a nuclear wasteland and die in droves. We don’t want that now, do we?”

“How much time do we have?” Schmitt asked.

“One week they said. You’re willing to do it now?”

“As you said, we don’t have much of a choice. I don’t want to be the guy that’s responsible for making the apocalypse worse than it already was because I couldn’t get around doing something that’s slightly out of my area of expertise. The slightly is sarcastic if you hadn’t guessed.”

“Look at it that way Schmitt; it’s just a really big steam turbine.” Alejandro tried.

“I wish it were that simple, but thanks for the attempt.” The Chief Engineer set his focus back on the Captain. “So, how do you propose we go about it?”

“We’ve got one plant in the Northern half of the country, and two objectives in the Southern half, those we can’t reach with Amandine.” Dilip began, waving a paw at the map. “My proposal was to assemble a ground team, with an engineer as its leader, to go secure the objectives down South. How big the team should be, I don’t know yet, but it would have to be small enough not to cripple our ability to move Amandine to a new dock. Because…” He pointed at another area on the map. “There is a container terminal, about two kilometers South of Doel in Antwerp. I want to move Amandine to that berth, and from there we can send a team to the power plant.”

“Meaning we will have to subtract even more people to make up a boat team and handle the lines ashore.” Artyom said.

“I may be able to help with that.” Farkas butted in.

All the assembled guys in the room turned to the female sphinx, who levitated a pen out of his pocket when they looked at him.

“We’ve got three sphinxes on board, I included, and I believe we can make use of that telekinesis we just discovered. I’ve spent all afternoon training the two others, and got them to grasp the concept and start moving small objects around. At this rate, give me a day and we will be able to wrap the lines around the designated bollards from the deck.”

“That… might actually work.” Artyom conceded. “So that’s the mooring settled. Now who would we send off with that ground team?”

“I would like to lead that team…” Schmitt began.

“No deal. We need you on board to oversee engine operations.” Dilip stopped him.

“But the Tihange plant is in a French-speaking area, I can speak French, and I’m fairly certain neither Angelo nor Aleksei can. They’ve been here for a while; they know how to work the engine.”

“Why does it even matter if it’s a French-speaking area?” Alejandro asked.

“It’s not to have a chat with locals obviously.” Dilip said.

“No, but the controls and instructions in the plant will be written in French.” Schmitt defended his point.

“If you need a French speaker on that team, then we can add Roberto, the secretary. I know for a fact that he speaks Italian, French and English. He can translate for them. It’s not like he’s doing anything that makes him requirement for mooring and navigation.” Dilip said.

“Fine. Then the team can be lead by Angelo, if he even fits in a truck.”

“He does, but he won’t drive that’s for sure, too big. That’s two guys, who do we send with them?” Farkas said.

“The unimogs can fit three people in the cabin, but three won’t be enough. I say we settle with four, so they can take two trucks loaded with tools and gear.” Artyom proposed.

“Deck department crewmembers won’t do since they’re needed for the mooring. How many can you spare in engineering Schmitt?” Dilip asked.

“I’m short a guy, since Thanasis is a sphinx and will be helping with the mooring. That makes it one guy I can spare. Nikola ought to do the trick.”

“The gargoyle? Fine by me, he’s got years of experience in engineering, and his experience in the army makes him the team's guard. Farkas, you think you can spare a cook for the cause?” Dilip said.

“Rahul would do the trick…” The sphinx shrugged.

“Bad idea, he and Roberto hate each other’s guts.” Artyom pointed out.

“Then let’s send Nguyen. He’s a cat too, might get to bond with Roberto.” Farkas said.

“A bit naïve since Rahul is his best friend, but better. So, we’re set?” Schmitt asked.

“We’re done. Tomorrow morning, Angelo will lead the team to Tihange with Roberto as translator, Nikola on engineering assistance and guard duty, and Nguyen as the second driver.” Dilip concluded. “Does anyone wish to contest this decision?”

Everyone shook their heads.

“Excellent. You may go break the news to your respective departments. I expect departure of the ground team tomorrow no later than 09.00. Dismissed.”

The department heads slowly trickled out of the office and Dilip let out a sigh of relief as the door finally closed. The crew would not like it but the hot potato was out of his hands.

The next morning, two of their unimogs parked in front of the stern ramp under the Captain’s vigilant eye. By his side, Farkas was reading off the content of the equipment list to one member of the team. The rest were still busy securing the supplies in the back of each truck.

One good thing with the trucks was that their cargo bay was made for troop transport as well as lightweight cargo. The flatbed could be extended up to create benches, and it had a tall steel frame with a tarpaulin wrapped around it protecting the cargo bay, which left plenty of space for up to three tons of cargo per truck. They had briefly considered taking tents in case their task took longer than expected (they had found a large supply of field tents in an aid container earlier that week), but the flatbed protected by tarpaulin was already enough to shelter them if they really needed it.

“Ammo boxes?” Farkas asked.

“Two of 5.56, 1000 rounds each, one per truck, plus one of 7.62 for the machinegun, and half a box of 9mm, all loaded and secured.” Nikola answered. The gargoyle was already dressed for travel, a combination of a woodland flak jacket and the usual orange coveralls worn by the crew.

“Mobile pump?”

“Ready to siphon any fuel station we find and the battery is full.”

“Rations?”

“One week worth of French combat rations, veggie variant included for the minotaur’s sake.”

Farkas switched his gaze from his levitating list to the gargoyle.

“The guns?”

“No worries, Roberto is getting them from the vault as we speak. One MAG for Angelo, a SCAR for me, and the rest gets the regular rifles. Then it’s half pistol, half less-lethal. We’d have taken some Geiger counters, but the ship only has dosimeters for when we work on the radar.”

The list folded itself and flew back in Farkas’ pocket.

“And you took them?”

“Three of them, half the ship’s stock. Left the rest for you when you go for the Doel power plant. We also have one mobile satellite antenna to hook to a laptop, but that’s Roberto’s business. Got the regular sat phones, walkie-talkie and two of those military-grade long range radios for the trucks. Got all frequencies covered.”

“Fine then.” Farkas smiled. “You’re all set. Anything you want to add, Captain?” The sphinx added, turning to the dog at his side.

“Negative. You’ve all had your briefings, you know the procedures. Remember to be careful out there. Those circles Geert and Rahul found in the marina? Avoid them like the plague. We think they’re the source of those wood hounds.”

Nikola scratched his antler at that remark.

“Really? You mean like some demonic circle thingy?”

“You don’t believe me?”

“Part of me wants to call you out on that, sir, but I’m a gargoyle talking to a sphinx that’s moving stuff around with his mind, and you are a giant talking bipedal dog.” He shrugged. “Demonic summoning almost sound like a side-dish to all that. I will keep it in mind, Captain.”

“Don’t take any risks. We will be offshore moving Amandine to Antwerp, so if anything happens to your group, you won’t be getting any assistance for a while. I want an update via SATCOM every six hours, copy?”

“Wilco sir, I will tell Angelo about it.”

“Good, consider yourself dismissed.” Dilip concluded.

The gargoyle politely nodded at the Captain before walking off towards the trucks. He mounted on the driver side of the lead vehicle, one painted bright white with the letters ‘UN’ written on its side and on the tarpaulin protecting the cargo bay. On the other side of the vehicle, Dilip saw the large silhouette of Angelo mount up as well, the truck’s suspension sagging for a few seconds under the bulk of the minotaur before recovering. A plume of smoke left the exhaust as Nikola started up the engine.

Behind the lead truck, Nguyen and Roberto embarked in their own vehicle, that one being of the exact same model, but painted olive green instead of white. Contrarily to most of the crew, the cats’ general appearance hadn’t changed that much. Their coveralls had only needed some rework to fit their tails, but that was pretty much it. Sure, they got taller, but they didn’t have to completely redo the sewing around their necks or modify the hips too much, unlike cases like Angelo. The minotaur had gained so much bulk with the transformation that he practically had to make himself a new set of coveralls, and it showed when you got a closer look at it. Furthermore, Angelo had gotten way too large to fit in the regular issue of flak jacket they had procured, which resulted once again in the minotaur having to practice his sewing. Granted, the jacket had been easier to modify than an entire set of coveralls, but Dilip still had to hand it to the minotaur, he could be remarkably quick to work when faced with the threat of wandering the ship naked.

Soon enough, both trucks were driving down the stern ramp and disappearing around a corner of the trailer yard. Dilip tracked them with his ears for a few more seconds before turning to Farkas at his side.

“That’s one thing done for today. Better hope that turns out okay.”

“I consider myself an optimist… but I wouldn’t be too confident about that.” The sphinx commented.

“Eh, at least they’re armed to deal with what’s ahead. Literally I mean.” Dilip glanced at his watch. “Think we still got time for some extra breakfast?”

“No extras today I’m afraid sir, kitchen’s understaffed.”

Dilip’s eyes widened.

“Shit that’s right, I just sent off half the kitchen staff on that mission.”

“As your chief steward sir, I have to warn you the kitchen will be reduced to one hot meal per day until staffing issues are resolved.” Farkas said with a small smile on his lips.

Not that he would be caught saying it, but the sphinx relished the sight of the Captain’s ears drooping when he heard that remark. He had to hold back a chuckle. Captain Prateek may not reveal much about himself but when you knew how to push his buttons you could get some pretty hilarious results.

Case in point with the sad puppy by his side who would not get his extra morning omelet.

The road to Tihange mostly sent the two truck convoy through highways. They had to take some smaller roads before reaching a junction with a highway at the start, but the infrastructure in this part of Europe was extensive, so it didn’t take them too long. There were plenty of roads, and the landscape around them was largely made up of industrial terrain and suburbs, with the odd small pasture stuck between two towns, more because no one had bothered to build there yet than because of an actual agricultural interest. They were in one of the busiest parts of the country, and it showed.

Which made it all the more glaring that the area was completely deserted. Save for one lone dog they passed upon leaving the harbor; they had yet to see a single sign of life. The roads were devoid of any vehicle. The place, which was usually known for being pretty bad as far as traffic flow was concerned, had had its problem solved overnight. The only cars left were those that were parked.

After passing the old town of Bruges, they took a highway headed south-east. Going further away from the coast, the amount of buildings started to thin, but it was still a far cry from an actual countryside. The trucks crossed several bridges going over canals, more signs of the country’s prolific industrial development.

Angelo took a look at the display on the GPS screen. In about fifteen minutes they would pass the capital city of Brussels. The minotaur readjusted the machine gun in his lap before addressing Nikola. He had to be careful not to scratch the roof with his horns when he turned his head.

“You think we should stop for fuel before getting to the power station?”

“Nah it’s fine.” Nikola said checking the fuel gauge. “We got about 600km to go on one tank. Might want to stop when we get back from Chooz, but not yet.”

They lapsed back into silence for a few minutes before Angelo felt compelled to speak up.

“You seem rather calm considering what we’re about to do.”

The gargoyle shook his head, which made his ginger colored mane rustle softly.

“I’d rather be doing it than twiddling my thumbs. At least I feel like I’m in control of what’s happening. Honestly if they had asked someone else I would have volunteered in their place.”

“That’s a philosophy I can get behind… though I can’t say I share your confidence.”

“They did give us a number to call. We got specialists to back us up, what more could you ask?”

“Oh I dunno, maybe to have the specialists actually do it.”

“They have their reasons not to…”

“And those reasons are flimsy at best. A special kind of radiation my ass, they want us to be their errand boys and the Captain is gonna let them have their way.” Angelo countered.

“Look, if you started to work in the merchant navy and expected anything else other than running errands, I got bad news for you.”

“That’s not what I mean and you know it.” He almost shook his head but stopped himself before skewering the roof; instead he let out a very bovine snort. “I saw the video; these guys are comfily riding out the End of the World from the safety of their bunker while we peasants have to fix everything. You call that fair?”

“Life ain’t fair.” Nikola said in a bitter tone. “I know that. Don’t go saying I wouldn’t have wanted to be in that bunker of theirs, but it’s too late anyway. I say, let’s make do with what we got, and find something to enjoy on the ride down to Hell. That good for you?”

“Amen to that.” Angelo laughed. “Anyway, how are you coping with the changes? You got turned into something pretty original I must say.”

“Good I guess?” The gargoyle said, rolling his shoulders. “The wings get pretty uncomfortable under the coveralls and the flak jacket doesn’t help, but the fur is rather comfy. I got a bit smaller, but it’s something I can work with. Feels like I’m as tall as I used to be when I was fifteen.”

“And the antlers?”

“Barely notice them to be honest; I get more bothered by the changes to my face.” Nikola clicked his tongue. “Muzzle is barely noticeable, but it’s there, and I stopped counting how often I cut my tongue on those fangs.”

“Could be worse. In fact all things considered you and I got off pretty well compared to some.” Angelo snorted. “Except for me being forced to go vegetarian. That’s just bullshit man.”

“Bullshit? Now that’s something coming from someone that’s half bull.” Nikola smiled. “Say, don’t you have some music on your phone? I could use some tune to make the drive pass quicker. Can’t say I’m particularly fond of roadtrips.”

“Sure.” Angelo pulled out his own Smartphone, not the satellite one they used to communicate with the ship. “Any preference?”

“Dunno.” Nikola shrugged. “Got some hard rock?”

With a soft nod, the minotaur put on one of his playlists and the drive continued to the rhythm of the music. Soon, they passed the capital city. The large urban sprawl of the European capital was hard to miss, but the bustling city was now but a shell of its former glory.

Without a population to give it its beat, the city was nothing but an empty husk. Gone were the various nationalities that had gathered in this place to make it the symbol of the European Union. Now, all the streets were deserted, and the numerous embassies devoid of their former diplomatic intrigues.

Not that Angelo would complain about it. Being Greek, he had plenty of built up resentment against the Union that had forced his fellow countrymen into poverty with their sanctions. Still, knowing that all those efforts made to counter the debt amounted to nothing thanks to the cataclysm… that was rather depressing.

Sure, he was an expat and hadn’t really been affected by the crisis, but his family had, even with all the financial aid he sent them.

And even that aid, having to tighten his budget, move to a smaller apartment, and all that jazz… All of that, done for nothing. Years of efforts, vanishing overnight without reason and leaving him with a pair of hooves and a body that would make Conan the barbarian look like a nerd.

Not that he complained about the muscle, but between not having an apocalypse and being beefy, he would rather choose the option that didn’t destroy civilization.

The convoy soon left Brussels behind and headed even deeper inland. The GPS made them leave the highways and take smaller roads. They were getting to the Southern part of the country, somewhat less developed than the North, and also less populated. Warehouses and factories traded place with villages, fields and small copses of trees.

The terrain was also a lot less smooth now. Gone were the flatlands of the Flanders fields, they were headed for the hilly and densely wooded terrain of the Ardennes.

Angelo took another look at the GPS. After three hours of drive, they were on the last stretch. One turn South and they would be heading down in the basin of the river Meuse, where the power plant was situated.

“Hey Niko, can you stop the truck a moment? I really need to take a leak.”

The Bulgarian gargoyle didn’t object but certainly made it clear that the stop displeased him by rolling his eyes. He grabbed the walkie-talkie on the dashboard and contacted the rear truck.

“Convoy One to convoy Two, we are make a small halt for the sake of our engineer who needs to empty his sewage tank, do you copy? Over.”

“Two to One, roger, stop wherever you want and we’ll follow. Out.” The answer came seconds later.

The convoy stopped next to a small building by the side of the road. The place, deserted much like the rest of the country, must have been a gas station at some point because there were traces of a fuel installation and an old shop, closed long before the cataclysm took its owner. Some old caravans were parked next to the building, a sign stuck on them presenting them as ready to be bought by buyers that would never come.

There were fields on either side of the road, but they stopped after a hundred meters or two, trading place with thick pine forest.

Stepping off the truck with his gun slung over his shoulder, the minotaur breathed in some fresh air, appreciating the smell of the countryside for a change.

Not that he would ever admit it, but driving around made him more nauseous than the worst of storms, for all the sense that it made.

He made his way to the building and tried to find the toilets of the old gas station, if there were any. Turns out they were behind the building, he noted, following the distinctive sign.

Two minutes later, Angelo exited the building. Old or not, these toilets still smelled of spilled beer and old piss, which was all the more offensive to his now sensitive nostrils. The engineer tugged at the zipper on his coveralls before adjusting the straps on his flak jacket. There was a waft of ozone accompanying the foul odor of the toilets.

Angelo’s eyes lazily shifted over to one corner of the yard that was behind the building. And then adrenaline rushed through his bloodstream.

Of fucking course he had to find one of these.

Right in the corner of the yard, some ten meters away from him, was one of the dreaded circles they had been warned about that very morning. The thing was solidly burned into the pavement of the yard, right next to an old campfire.

Now wait a second…

Competent as he was as an engineer, Angelo didn’t quite grasp the concept of risk assessment the same way the guys of the deck department did. He took his machinegun in his large hands and carefully crept up to the circle with a curious frown on his face. He had an itching feeling in the back of his mind, as if there was an instinct in the back of his head warning him of impending danger.

Barrel loosely trained in the direction of the circle, Angelo closely observed the scene.

There were in fact three of these circles, but only one of them corresponded to the description given to them earlier. The circle design with the thirteen outward lines and triangle in the center was there, but the other two circles were very different.

For one, the symbols were different, and a bit clearer to read. Granted it still was complete gibberish to him, but they were different from the other type of circle. They weren’t as aggressively burned into the ground… almost as if someone had engraved them with a laser instead of using a cutting torch.

For second, the size and shape were different. The circle was larger by a whole meter, and only had a spiraling pattern inside of it.

The odd thing was, there were two of those, both very close to the campfire. The other circle, the one with the triangle in the center, was further away, almost five meters away from the campfire.

Checking around quickly, Angelo snapped a picture of the scene and tagged the position on his phone’s GPS. He began to turn around with the intent of returning to the trucks when he spotted something even more out of place.

There was dried blood by the campfire, a lot of it.

The minotaur walked closer, taking quick looks around to make sure the area was safe. Sure enough, there was a large red mark on the pavement, definitely dried blood. Most of the blood had been spilled around the fire, but there was a trail of it going in the direction of one of the ‘spiral’ patterned circles.

After another quick picture with his phone, the minotaur quickly made himself scarce. His mind was urgently pressuring him to vacate the area. He walked back to the convoy at a brisk pace with the unsettling feeling heavy on his back.

“What took you so long?” Nikola asked as he was leaning out of his truck’s window smoking a cigarette.

“Demonic circles. Time to leave and we’d better be quick.”

The gargoyle didn’t ask questions and waved at Nguyen behind them to get the other truck started again. Within seconds, they were motoring away from the old gas station. Angelo wasn’t too sure about it, but he could have sworn he saw the treetops in the adjacent forest rustle as they left.

“You said circles?”

“Three of them, two of a different kind than we’ve seen in Zeebrugge. Took photos, and jotted down the location on my phone.”

“How different are we talking?” Nikola asked, careful to keep his eyes on the road.

“Different enough that it looked like there was a confrontation. I saw blood.”

“Any other clue?”

“Other than a campfire in the corner of a paved backyard, not really. But I got that feeling…”

“Impending doom or some shit? Yeah, same thing for me, almost had me worried about you.” Nikola admitted.

Angelo scratched at his muzzle pensively.

“You know Niko, I think that… something was still in the area. Just a hunch though.”

“You’re probably right.” Nikola glanced in the rearview mirror to ensure the cats in the other truck were following. “Back when I was in the army some people used to say you could feel you were about to be ambushed.”

“You believe that?”

“Not really. But if it were true I bet it would have felt like that. We aren’t here to fight critters or what else anyway, so I’d rather not risk it. We don’t gain anything from picking fights with whatever creature came out of those circles.”

“Agreed.” Angelo said, leaning back in his seat.

Still, the Captain would have to be informed of this detail. Apparently there was more than a single individual involved with these demonic circles.

The convoy finally reached the valley of the Meuse half an hour later after passing through some woods. By then, the terrain had changed even more drastically. They were now well inside the Ardennes, and more hills beyond the horizon showed the verdant area extended even further South.

But the local landscape was not what mattered at the moment, for in front of them were the three massive cooling towers of the power plant, on the other side of the river. All three of the massive buildings were still belching titanic amounts of steam, and the members of the convoy could already spot the reactor housings at the foot of the towers.

Further upstream of the power station was the Belgian town of Huy… or rather what was left of it. Rising above the town was a column of black smoke, caused by the multiple fires that were spread across the city which they could spot even across the fairly large distance that separated them from the city center.

The city must have been burning for a while because a handful of city blocks had already burned out after the passage of the fires. Thankfully, it didn’t appear that the fires were progressing in their direction or that of the power plant, so a quick look on the map was enough for them to find a way around the desolated city.

No word was exchanged among them as the convoy passed through some desolated suburbs. Angelo kept glancing around for a clue as to what may have caused that but he kept coming up short.

Probably just an accident after a fire was left abandoned by its tender that suddenly disappeared. With the drought that had been hitting Europe that year, that could have been the triggering effect for… that.

The only time Angelo had ever seen anything that bad was back in 2007 when wildfires had ravaged the countryside in Greece… but even then it hadn’t been a town of that size. He hoped there weren’t any survivors like them inside of the city when it caught fire.

“A sight for sore eyes, eh?” Niko said.

“You don’t say. The area has been populated since the time of the Roman Empire, now it’s just a ghost town. I wouldn’t want to see my own country in such a state.”

“Neither would I. Which way is it now?”

“Third on the left for the entrance of the power plant facilities.” Angelo answered, turning his eyes away from the city.

Thankfully, the power station was separated from the main city by a fair distance. The local authorities had decided to build it further downstream, next to the village of Tihange that had become a suburb to the city proper.

Angelo hadn’t ever visited a nuclear plant in his life, but he supposed the fact that the facilities were secured by a double layer of fencing and barbed wire was normal. The convoy came up to the entrance checkpoint and the sight of a closed gate.

“Well there it is.” Nikola stated, halting the truck. “Now you wouldn’t happen to have something to get us inside? I don’t really want to have to cut all that steel open with a torch.”

The minotaur allowed a smile to grace his features. Time to show off a bit.

“Won’t need a torch. Have you been to the ship’s gym since the cataclysm?”

The gargoyle quirked an eyebrow at his superior.

“You can’t seriously believe you can rip it open?”

“I totally do. Tried some lifting yesterday. Managed to do forty reps.”

“Yeah, at 150kg maybe. You ain’t trained for shit.”

Angelo opened the door and stepped off the truck.

“More like 400kg; and I know my technique sucks balls. Watch this.”

The checkpoint securing the entrance was build around a large concrete guard post. First there was one steel gate made out of thick bars, then a wall that forced vehicles to make a turn before being confronted by a second barrier and another gate, thus protecting the compound from attacks by ramming trucks. Each of the barriers, as well as the thick concrete walls and fences surrounding the guard post were topped by razor wire, which was probably electrified too if the soft clicking they were emitting was any indication.

The perks of making an installation Greenpeace proof, Angelo guessed. Too bad it wasn’t made to withstand minotaurs.

Angelo took a look at the first barrier. It was supposed to roll to the side to open, and was secured by two thick locks on one end. He grabbed the gate with both hands and took a wide stance, hooves braced firmly on the ground.

The minotaur exhaled softly, before suddenly heaving with all of his considerable might. Angelo might not have been aware of it, but the formerly geeky Greek engineer was still rather puny by minotaur standards.

Not that it had any influence on the matter at hand, because the metal around the locks started to warp as he pulled. With a sharp twang, the metal bar that connected with the locks broke apart, and Angelo’s strength caused the rest of the gate to be propelled in the opposite direction, breaking the electric motors that were supposed to move the gate.

“Color me impressed, never thought I would see you of all people ripping apart a steel gate like that. You gonna do that with the other?” Niko said, coming up behind him.

“Fuck no mate.” Angelo said, shaking his head. “You get inside that guard post and open the door. Try to find the facility’s master key too if you can, though I suppose I can kick some doors open. Imma call that HPI to tell them to get ready.”

Angelo went back to the lead truck to get a sat phone while Nikola was busy getting them access to the plant.

Behind the lead truck, the two cats had dismounted their vehicle and were keeping a close eye on their surroundings, rifles held in a loose grip.

Dialing the number given to them by Agent Eko was a simple affair, Angelo even spared the time to connect the phone to a headset to make his life easier. Convenient as they are, satellite connections tend to have some mild latency issues, so he might as well make the best of it.

“This is Agent Eko on the line, who am I talking to?” The line finally sprang to life after almost a minute.

“Greetings, this is Second Engineer Angelo Molnàr from M/V Amandine.” The minotaur said through the headset. “My team has reached the nuclear plant in Tihange as planned and we are awaiting instructions.”

“Excellent mister Molnàr. Have you gained access to the control room yet?” The agent really did sound pleased at the news, Angelo had expected the guy to be more restrained from the Captain’s description.

“That’s a negative. We were hoping you’d have the schematics to guide us there.”

“I’m afraid we don’t. Our data only extends to the workings of the plant; you will have to find the control room yourself.”

“I suppose we can manage to do that. One more thing, we have brought the equipment for a teleconference via satellite so that we can get some visual assistance. Are your nuclear specialists able to do that?” Angelo said, looking in Roberto’s direction.

“I can get a telecom specialist on the case, but it will take longer than just an audio call.”

“Good, that means we can make use of the time to find the controls. Do you mind if I pass the call to my communications guy?”

“Pass him the phone, then he can discuss the modalities with our agents.”

On the other side of the guard post, the locks on the second gate released with a loud clang before it slid out of the way. A minute later, Nikola left the guard post twirling a set of keys in his fingers.

Angelo passed the headset to Roberto, the cat accepting the phone without question. Turns out his ears were sharp enough to pick up the conversation he’d held with the HPI agent. The minotaur didn’t bother listening in to what the cat was saying across the line. He had a role on this team, and Roberto had another, no need to get things mixed up.

They parked the trucks close to a very large building that looked different from the reactor housings, and was made up of more glass than the rest. With a bit of chance, that was their objective.

From what Angelo could see, there were different types of building in the compound: the reactor housings, three of them, each close to a cooling tower. Then there were some thick bunkers recessed in the ground, probably the place where they stored reserve and spent rods for the reactors.

There were also some tall buildings that were connected to a large number of power lines, so they were most likely the location of the turbines and transformers. These buildings were also linked to some very large diesel generators, large enough to make the Amandine’s engine look tiny. The emergency generators then, put in place in case they had to stop the production on the reactors.

Each of those buildings was connected to several large diameter pipes, feeding from some pools next to the river, and each of the pools was connected to what looked like a filtering station. The minotaur engineer was already trying to piece together what he was seeing and drawing some schematics of the plant in his mind.

So the plant was constructed with the filtering station monitoring what was being pumped from and into the river, and cycled the water through the pools before feeding it to the power station proper. Check. That was the water feed circuit, and maybe it had some part in the general cooling too.

The piping going from the turbine to the reactors seemed to be reinforced with lead and recessed into the concrete onto which the compound was bound, and some similar piping ran to the cooling towers. That circuit must be driving the turbines, and there had to be a heat exchanger inside the reactor housing since Angelo couldn’t picture the water from that circuit being in direct contact with the fuel rods.

So that made two water circuits not in contact with the nuclear materials per reactor, plus the pressurized one inside each of the reactors. Nine in total to manage at once. Not. Difficult. At. All.

Roberto came up behind him, the Italian cat having hung up on his conversation with the HPI.

“Their comms agent told me they would need about half an hour to get the equipment ready for the conference. I will do my best to get the stuff ready, think you can find the control room?”

“You sure it’s in that building?”

“The sign over there says: Contrôle et commande de la production. Do you really need me to translate that?”

“Just checking is all.” Angelo said. “What will you be doing?”

“I got three drums of cable with connectors for approximately 150 meters. I think I will get to the roof and put the antenna there, so we should have enough cable to reach the control room.”

“And the power?”

“HPI guys told me that even after we shut down the station it still will be warm enough to keep going for a while, so I’m just gonna plug in on a power outlet.” Roberto shrugged. “I packed a generator just in case but turns out it won’t be necessary.”

“Good, tell Nguyen to guard the trucks, I will be looking for the control room with Niko.”

The inside of the building looked more modern than it had any right to considering that nuclear plant in particular was supposed to be decommissioned soon. Maybe those Belgians hadn’t been too honest about their intentions regarding the phasing out of nuclear power... In the lobby, Nikola and Angelo activated their dosimeters and stopped by a supply shed to grab a Geiger counter.

The counters told them the exposure rate at the moment was at five microSievert per day, which was within safe limits according to a chart they had found in the lobby. No reason to start panicking at the moment.

Finding the control room wasn’t so difficult in the end, and the keys Nikola had obtained from the guard post opened the heavily reinforced doors easily (though the gargoyle had to ask Angelo for assistance since the doors were so heavy he could barely move them).

The inside of the room was particularly impressive for the two engine room workers. If the engine controls of Amandine were relatively large and were considered impressive by many people, the controls of the power plant were in a league of their own.

In front of them, the room divided itself into three different semicircles, one for each reactor of the power plant. Each of those semicircles housed a large amount of control panels for the reactors, and any single of those semicircles were twice as big as the entire control panel banks of Amandine.

There was a set of computer workstations on a raised dais in the centre of the room overseeing the three semicircles, and another set of computers arranged just next to the dais. The central computers were probably there for general oversight, and the other set of computers for the secondary systems.

The back wall of the room was lined with numerous shelves holding folders and manuals regarding how to operate the controls.

It was a shame they were worthless to Angelo since they were written in French. Roberto wouldn’t have time to translate them anyway. He turned to Nikola at his side.

“Get to the roof and bring Roberto here. I will need him to translate those controls for me. Make sure he puts the antenna in place, ‘cause we’re gonna need those HPI specialists.”

The gargoyle quickly nodded before leaving at a small jog in the direction of a staircase. Angelo turned around and made his way to the central consoles, already trying to figure out how it worked.

Pulling out a seat, the minotaur dropped his machinegun on a table next to the computers. Might as well get settled, this was going to take a while.

Outside the building, Nguyen was making some rounds to check the surroundings. The cat had his rifle slung around one shoulder, and a walkie-talkie around the other. He had made his way back to the guard post to close the gate after parking his truck to ensure they would not be surprised by any wooden wildlife sneaking in the compound.

Walking around, the Vietnamese cook wasn’t particularly worried about anything threatening them inside the plant. Sure, radiation was a risk, but there were plenty of dosimeters and Geiger counters around in addition to those they had taken from Amandine, so as long as he paid attention to the instruments he should be fine.

The cat had cracked open one of their combat rations earlier in the truck. As it turns out, there was a good reason the rations they had retrieved from a Belgian military installation were French: they just were that good.

In all seriousness, these rations were almost ridiculous. Nguyen had heard stories about how nasty MRE’s can be and how the food is impossibly bland, but it was far from being the case with those: there were appetizers, an entrée, two canned meals ready for reheating (one can even read ostrich in cranberry sauce), and even more!

There it was gents, his own cooking had been beaten by a mere MRE, how humbling…

The cat spotted a short wall overlooking both the entrance and the control building. As good a spot as he was gonna get to enjoy his meal. Nguyen popped a caramel (part of the MRE’s contents) in his mouth and got himself seated on top of the wall, with the ration’s portable grill at his side.

Within minutes, Nguyen was reheating the can of ostrich meat. If he was going to be outshined by military food, at least he could console himself with the fact it was French and that he would get to enjoy it. There was a tang of preservatives in the food, but it was good. Behind him, the cat’s tail slowly swung back and forth in pleasure.

He opened his flak jacket and the top of his coveralls to release some of the heat he was building up. The transformation had come with a thick coat of brown fur with white stripes for him, and while it protected him nicely from the wind when out at sea… it also retained a bit too much heat for his taste. Even though he wasn’t wearing anything under his coveralls, the heat felt stifling, and it was only May in a temperate country.

Nguyen looked up towards the roof of the control building to see Roberto finish assembling the satellite antenna. He idly wondered if the Italian cat was experiencing the same issues with his fur, though that was less likely considering his coat was visibly thinner. Nikola then walked up next to Roberto, exchanging some words with the other cat before Roberto headed down the stairs, leaving only the gargoyle on the roof. Nguyen’s radio sprang to life.

“Eh Nguyen, Niko here, do you hear me? Over.”

“I hear you loud and clear. What’s the matter? Over.” He answered on his talkie-walkie between two mouthfuls of ostrich.

“I got a link with the control room from here on the roof, so I don’t need to stay with them when they’re doing the shutdown. Have you checked the area yet? Over.”

“Affirmative, but it was only a quick check around the guard post and control building. Just to make sure the gate was closed. Over.”

“Good. I will be keeping an eye on the area from the roof, but Angelo might call me down if he needs something done, make sure they don’t get any nasty surprise. Over.”

“No worries pal; I will do another patrol after I finish my meal. Nguyen out.” He concluded before setting down the radio.

He may or may not have taken more time than necessary to finish his lunch, but it wasn’t like they were in immediate danger: the fires in the town were progressing in the opposite direction of the power plant, and the gate was secure.

Nguyen tossed the empty food can in a trashcan by the side of the control building before putting the boxed MRE back in his truck. He was tempted to just leave his trash lying around since no one would be bothered by it anyway, but chose not to out of self-respect. He had been turned into a cat, not a pig.

After wiping some sauce off of his whiskers, the Vietnamese cat started walking around the compound with his rifle slung around his shoulder. Out of the corner of his eye, he could spot Nikola sitting cross legged on the roof with his rifle in his lap. The gargoyle’s weapon was better suited to his elevated firing position, what with the scope it had come equipped with.

Nguyen started humming a tune as he walked. He had no idea where he had heard it, either in an advertisement or maybe from back home in Vietnam, not that he cared.

There was something to be told about wandering freely like that around a nuclear power plant. The cooling towers, for one, really were impressive to look at. When looking at them from afar you couldn’t really get an accurate idea of just how freaking big they actually were. The cat had to crane his neck and lean backward just to get a look at the top of the towers.

At the bottom of the towers was a basin filled with boiling water. There were walkways going above the pool, but using them would have been ill-advised considering the sheer amount of steam rising out of the water. Nguyen didn’t feel like being steam-cooked, so he kept going.

Upon passing a tool shed next to the diesel generators, the cat heard a soft buzzing that made his large ears twitch. There was some light coming from inside the generators’ housing, which was odd since they were supposed to be inactive.

Nguyen entered the building to check it out, careful to keep an eye on the radiation in the area with his instruments.

The building was fairly simple, being made out of corrugated steel with some lining on the inside to dampen the noise of the generator. There were hardly any windows inside except for the glass door Nguyen had entered through. In the middle of the building’s only room was a four story tall generator surrounded by several walkways that allowed mechanics to work on different parts of the system without having to call in an elevator. The roof of the building was covered in pipes and cables going from and to the generator.

Since the system was controlled from the control room, there were no command consoles inside the building, only some instruments and an emergency stop button.

The buzzing that had attracted Nguyen inside stopped the moment he passed the door, but the light was still there. It was some pale bluish light, similar to xenon headlights, that reflected off the shiny metal that made up the walls.

Which was odd. None of the neon lights on the roof were on.

He slowly made his way around the generator, his rifle now in hand, but not cocked. Wouldn’t want to accidentally shoot up a nuclear plant.

“Troi oi…” Nguyen muttered in dismay upon rounding the corner.

There was one of those demonic circles burned into the ground right in front of him. The same kind as the one in Zeebrugge, and the other found earlier that day by Angelo.

Before he had time to take a closer look at the thing, several warning bells went off in his mind. His instincts suddenly told him to duck, warning him of a danger behind him.

Nguyen’s reaction wasn’t a second too late, as a lightning bolt sailed over his head just as he moved, scorching the ground with a loud ‘Zap’. He turned around and looked up at the source of the lightning.

Up in the air above him was a swarm of moth-like insects. Each of the insects was covered in fluffy sky blue hair, with large translucent membrane wings, a pair of large pinkish eyes and bolt shaped antennae.

The swarm actually was the source of the bluish light he had noticed, which was a byproduct of the electric arcs going from one of the insects to another, turning the whole swarm into a bright ball of lightning.

And if the bolt of lightning from earlier was any indication, these things were fiercely territorial.

The swarm started to buzz angrily, spreading out further than before. Nguyen kept his eyes riveted on them, walking backwards in the direction of the door.

Shooting them would have been futile, so the next best option was to lock them inside and ensure they didn’t get out.

The cat’s mind rang out once again to warn him of an impending attack, this time telling him to go right. The hunch was correct, because the swarm fired another bolt at him, missing by a hairsbreadth as he rolled to the side.

The swarm flew right at him before he had time to regain his footing, forcing him to throw himself backwards to dodge the incoming cloud of very angry insects. Nguyen sprang to his feet the moment the insects were past him, already turning around to face the threat.

The swarm was making a run for the door.

“Oh no you don’t you little fuckers!” He yelled, cocking his rifle.

The cat aimed at the swarm and fired a single shot in their direction, aiming just enough not to hit anything critical in the building. The shot, fired inside a building, made his ears ring painfully.

The bullet shattered against the wall in front of the swarm, halting their advance and forcing them to focus their attention back on the Vietnamese. They started to spread out again, the lightning around the swarm increasing in intensity.

Good, the little fuckers were biting the bait. As long as they were focused on him they weren’t making a run for the exit, and he could keep them contained.

Now to get between them and the door…

Nguyen fired another shot at the swarm (much to the displeasure of his ears) before pulling out a stun grenade from a pouch on his flak jacket. After putting on his ear defenders, he moved to throw it, hoping to stop the insects long enough for him to run for the door. Unfortunately, the swarm had no intentions of staying passive and flew back in his direction, buzzing angrily.

His mind didn’t give him any warning before the swarm fired a third bolt at him. The electric arc hit him square in the chest just as he was throwing the grenade, leaving a scorch mark on his flak jacket.

The cat barely held back a cry of pain as his muscles seized up, sending him falling to the ground. He barely managed to brace an arm in front of him before landing face first against the hard concrete.

With his fangs grit in pain from the tremors that were still coursing through his body, he managed to wrench his gaze away from the concrete floor and looked up to the buzzing swarm of insects.

Turns out his grenade had flown true, because the little demons were hovering just above it, still buzzing angrily. They started to spread out again, preparing the finishing bolt…

And then the stun grenade exploded.

Nguyen cursed himself for ever thinking it was a good idea to throw a stun grenade in the same room he was in, because even through his closed eyes and the ear defenders, he was still sent reeling from the explosion. Fortunately for him, the swarm was worse off, having been unprotected and practically on top of the grenade when it exploded.

All of the insects were down trashing on the ground, made completely unaware of their surroundings by the explosion. Some were still flying aimlessly in the air, hitting objects and walls at random.

Nguyen didn’t stick around to let them recover. He pushed through the pain of the bolt, the haze due to having a stun grenade explode a dozen meters in front of him and the painful ringing in his ears. Standing up was excruciatingly painful, but he managed it and stumbled in the direction of the door. His rifle was hanging by the sling on his chest, momentarily forgotten.

Passing by the door, he slammed a paw against the fire alarm button. If the system was similar to what they had on Amandine, then it would close off all ventilation in that part of the building, hopefully.

Still stumbling like a drunkard, Nguyen slammed the door shut behind him before finally allowing himself to fall over. The fire alarm was ringing loudly, his muscles were twitching, his chest was aching and probably burnt in some way, but he had made it out without letting the bugs escape.

A small victory but he would take it, for now…

Author's Note

First off, here's a chart with the crew's objectives, 'cause I like charts.

Now giving the spotlight to some crewmembers from engineering, because sending deck guys to do that would make no sense at all and I got a cast of 25 guys to fool around with. Hope you guys enjoy the read, and have a nice day.

Chapter 13: High Pressure

Author's Note

Bit of a foreword before this chapter. I'm just a deck officer, not an engineer, and I've never worked with nuclear reactors, so what you're about to read is probably very incorrect.

I did some amount of research on the subject, including what data I could find on that plant in particular. I based my reasoning off of schematics for PWR type plants, but even then it's likely I made some mistakes interpreting that data (most likely when it comes to pressure control systems I assume).

I apologize in advance for any fault you may find.

Chapter 13: High Pressure

Angelo was standing by a window of the control room building, satellite phone in hand. Behind him, inside the room proper, Roberto was finishing his setup of the laptop. With a flick of his finger, he unlocked the phone and sent a message to report their progress to the ship.

Not a minute later, he got a message from the Captain on his phone.

Report received.

Proceed with call to HPI and shutdown of plant. Increase frequency of reports to every two hours.

Warning: any further request from the HPI has to go through me before being accepted. Do not let yourself be pressured into an agreement.

Amandine scheduled to leave ZB by 13.30LT once all materials are secure for sea and charts are cleared for passage to Antwerp. ETA to Antwerp: 21.10LT.

Stay safe,

Cpt. Prateek

At least he had the merit of being clear, though he wondered what those HPI guys could possibly ask them beyond just shutting down the plants. Most likely that wouldn’t be a problem, but if the Captain felt it necessary to be told, then he might as well acknowledge it.

The minotaur quickly sent an ACK on his phone as a reply to the Captain before making his way back inside the control room.

Roberto was now done hooking up his gear, and had placed the laptop next to the central console in the middle of the room.

“How is the system coming along?” Angelo asked.

“Almost ready. If I want to make the connection possible I have to get this computer’s signal up in the air and back to Amandine with a program I put together. It’s shoddy work, but eh, good enough for what we ask it to do…”

“Why does the signal need to go back to Amandine? Can’t you contact the HPI directly like we did by phone?” The minotaur asked curiously.

“No can do” Roberto shook his head while typing on the computer. “The reason you’re able to call by phone is because they have a number of their own, but this laptop isn’t meant for satellite connections. If we had the time to come up with something better, then maybe the HPI comms guys and I could decide on a program to use for the video call. But since we’re short on time I will just send the signal back to Amandine, log on to the ship’s server from a distance, and have the video call be treated as if they were calling Amandine via satellite, though that gives us some very bad latency.”

“Wait you mean we can connect to the ship’s server from a distance?”

“You can’t, but this laptop here can. I’m not going to leave the ship open to cyber attacks, so I fitted both the ship’s server and the laptop with a time code generator, in addition to the usual user ID needed to log on. It doesn’t affect the Wi-Fi though, only connection attempts via satellite.” Roberto finished typing, and Amandine’s computer’s UI came on screen. “There we go, now just log on, and it will work just like a user terminal on board, if you don’t mind the lag.”

Angelo’s eyebrows rose up.

“And with skills like that you’re supposed to just be a secretary?”

“The company gave me some IT training before I joined the crew. Granted, I mostly do paperwork, but the servers are my responsibility, and we’ve got plenty of electronic documentation to manage.” Roberto waved towards the laptop. “I took the liberty of giving the HPI your user call number, if you don’t mind. That way they won’t have to re-route the call to us from the bridge.”

“Aye, that will do.” Angelo shrugged before logging in on the computer. “When did you tell them to call?”

Roberto checked his watch.

“Still got a quarter of an hour before they call. Anything else that needs to be done?”

“Yeah” Angelo pointed to the control panels around them. “If you could start working on translating the labels on the controls, that would be great. There should be some post-it notes lying around.”

The Italian complied and set to sticking translation notes around the control room while Angelo was looking at some schematics, still trying to familiarize himself with the system.

Five minutes later, the duo was interrupted by the ringing of the fire alarm going off. Angelo’s head jerked up from the drawings he was checking out, his sight turning to a control panel for the secondary systems that was now blinking red.

“Roberto what’s going on?”

The cat rushed over from where he was working on his translations to the blinking control panel. An alert message had popped up on the main screen in front of him.

“It’s from the diesel generators. System readings are fine, but someone just pulled the fire alarm. Do I need to cancel it?” He asked, one paw hovering over the keyboard.

“Wait.” Angelo stopped him. “First let me check on the others.” He said, taking hold of his walkie-talkie and walking out. The walls of the control room were too thick to let radio waves through, but if he got close to the windows outside, he could actually talk to Nikola.

“Niko, this is Angelo from the control room. The fuck’s going on outside? Over.”

The reply took a minute to come and Angelo almost wondered if his radio wasn’t transmitting.

“Angelo, this is Niko. I just saw Nguyen leave the generator building after the alarm and collapse. Can’t tell from here but he doesn’t look too good. Over.”

“No shit I don’t look good.” Nguyen’s voice came, though it was clear the cat was having some difficulties. “I just got fucking tasered by a swarm of bugs and then I stunned myself with my own grenade. Pardon me if I don’t exactly look ready for a photo shoot. Over.”

“Yeah I’m pretty sure I can see you smoking from here. What happened? Bugs don’t have tasers. Over.” Niko said.

“That swarm of lightning-bolt-firing mites I just trapped inside the generator building begs to differ. Need I say I found them next to a demonic circle? Over.”

“Alright, I’m not gonna contest the bugs out of hell or whatever you choose to call them. Was it you that pulled the fire alarm? Over.” Angelo asked.

“Affirmative. Needed to close the vents to keep the bugs inside. Are they closed? Over.”

A quick check with Roberto inside the control room later, Angelo was reassuring the cat that the vents were indeed shut tight. They even managed to turn off the alarm without opening them, much to the comfort of their sensitive hearing.

“Niko, would you mind getting down to take a look at the cook? Over.”

“Already on my way. You focus on that reactor. Out.”

Angelo turned back from the window and made his way back in the control room. They had five minutes before the call, so they’d better make the best out of it.

Now to hope the situation didn’t get out of hand with those electric bugs…

The Greek minotaur stood in front of the computer screen as it came to life, revealing a table of three people dressed in black coveralls. They were sitting facing the camera in a conference room, surrounded by folders and stacks of paper. Behind them, some plans and drawings were hanging on the wall.

The apparent leader of the trio was a black man sitting in the middle. Like his colleagues, he was wearing black coveralls with the letters HPI embroidered on the collar and a South African flag on his shoulder. The man was about fifty years old, and time had not been kind to him: despite having a tall figure, the man was gaunt, bald, and wearing glasses. Despite that, the African still held himself with the proud stance of a man who was very confident in his skills. A tag on the man’s chest read ‘Lockwood’.

Angelo nodded at the three HPI operatives.

“Greetings. I am Second Engineer Molnàr from M/V Amandine.” He then waved an arm in Roberto’s direction. “And this is Roberto Costa, the ship’s secretary, who will be translating the Human-Machine interface for us. I do not believe we have been acquainted yet?”

“We haven’t.” Lockwood answered curtly. “I am Agent Lockwood, Chief of Nuclear Operations for the American branch and these are my assistants for today.”

The man pointed at a short white man on his left. The young red haired man was short, but obviously made up for it by being very fit. He looked tired, and the stubble around his goatee indicated the guy hadn’t had much time to himself in the last days. He had an American flag on his shoulder.

“This is Agent Burke, who specializes in high pressure systems and manipulation of liquefied solids in extreme conditions.”

Then he turned to a pale American (as indicated by the flag on her shoulder) woman on his right. Much like Burke, she was looking frazzled. Strands of her blonde hair were sticking out of the bun they were tied in. Unlike Burke however, she wasn’t fit. Quite the opposite in fact: her thick neck strained the collar of her coveralls.

“And this is Agent Kipling. She is one of our nuclear engineers and has been familiarizing herself with the system we will be working with today.”

Off to the side, Angelo spotted Roberto pressing the record button on the computer. The Italian gave him a wink before slipping away to translate more of the controls.

“Are you familiar with nuclear installations mister Molnàr?” Lockwood asked.

“Negative.” The minotaur said, shaking his head. “I do have certifications for the use of steam turbines and I am familiar with marine electric generation systems, but that’s about it. The extent of my knowledge on nuclear reactors only goes as far as the triple circuit principle… You know, core circuit takes heat from the fuel rods, passes it on the secondary circuit which runs the turbine, and the third circuit is there to cool down the secondary. Each separated to avoid nuclear contamination.”

“Insufficient clearly.” Lockwood stated with a derisive shake of his head. “Nevertheless, we will find a way to make it work. I insist you do not touch the controls until we have thoroughly reviewed the procedure we will be going through today.”

No shit Sherlock. As if he was going to mash the control buttons of a nuclear reactor. What kind of fool did that guy take him for?

“Our data on the Tihange power plant tells us the system contains a total of three different reactors, each hooked to a different turbine, each with its own emergency diesel generator.” Lockwood began. “These turbines later join up at a substation from where they then power up the regional electric network. Our goal today will be to bring the chain reaction in the reactor to its minimum, and then to reduce core temperature to a safe point before we fill it with a neutron absorbing solution that will ensure radiation emissions are limited and prevent increases in temperature in the long run. Do you understand?”

“Why can’t we inject the neutron absorber immediately?”

“If I may…” Burke stepped in. “The Tihange plant is a particularly old model. As such, recent inspections before the cataclysm had revealed micro fissures around the housing of reactor 2 and 3. These fissures were accompanied by microscopic bubbles of Hydrogen inside the pool. These are a particular concern because they force us to avoid cavitation in the core circuit at all cost. The vibrations due to a cavitation phenomenon could cause the bubbles to implode, which, if combined with the fissures, could cause a catastrophic breach of the housing. The reason the neutron absorbing solution may not be inserted in the core at high temperature, is that it is not soluble within the sodium chloride/heavy water mixture used inside the reactor in such conditions.”

“And what does this have to do with cavitating the pump? Wait, how come something would NOT be soluble in such conditions? Doesn’t it get better at high temperature?”

“A default in conception I’m afraid. Several mentions are made about it in notes about that plant in particular to prevent it from occurring, but the neutron absorber will react with the chloride in the coolant solution if the reactor is at a sufficiently high temperature. In theory, this will form a solid deposit… at the entrance of the pump impeller. An unfortunate byproduct of using sodium chloride in a pressurized water reactor. That type of coolant is completely phased out in more modern reactors.”

“Ah shit…”

“Shit would be an understatement to that.” Lockwood said. “The resulting clog would act exactly like a partially closed valve and increase back pressure on the pump. Cavitation… would be unavoidable. But this part of the shutdown will only come into play at the very end. In the meantime, Agent Kipling…”

The woman stood up and grabbed the camera on their end of the communication, pointing it at a number of schematics on the wall.

“We will start off one reactor at a time.” Kipling said. Funnily enough, she had a British accent despite wearing an American flag on her shoulder. “Reactor 1 is in the best shape, so we will start with that one. For you I think the controls are on your left?”

Angelo nodded once.

“Excellent. Regardless of user input, the control rod position should be indicated on the central screen. I don’t have much data on the user UI, but you need to access the sensor monitoring panelyou’re your computer. It should be in the first half of the main menu.”

There was a large screen in the center of the semicircle housing the control panels for reactor 1, showing the status of the nuclear pile. Roberto had already gone through that part, thankfully. Numerous LED lights were showing him the position of the rods as well as which segment of the pile contained fuel rods.

“Okay, for reactor 1 it says the controls are in automated power production, the rods are 40% down and we’ve got about half of the fuel rod slots filled in.”

“Automated production? These greedy fuckers must have overridden the SCRAM protocols otherwise the plant would have gone into cooling mode.” Kipling swore.

“Agent Kipling, language.” Lockwood admonished her.

“Fine.” She snorted. “But no reactor should have kept going for that long. Gives me bad hopes for the rest of the continent if the first European reactor we shut down is like that. For one they refuse to decommission a thirty years old plant, and then they override emergency safeties so the plant keeps producing? I’m not the most pious gal around the block but these jackasses were begging for an Apocalypse.”

Angelo coughed politely. He had brought up the sensor monitoring panel on his screen, but the recorder was showing him an empty graph.

“Sorry mister Molnàr.” Kipling apologized. “There should be an index folder in the room, in which you will find all the values for the graph recorder. Don’t know how it’s called in French however…”

Roberto was already on the case, because the second she said that, a red folder found its way in his hands, courtesy of the Italian cat. In it, Angelo found numerous tables with minimum and maximum values, as well as numbered tags.

“So, Kipling… would you please clarify what I’m looking at?” He said, showing the folder in front of the camera.

“The tags you will find in this folder refer to the factory number of each sensor around the installation. For each of these, you have a digital tag to input within the computer in order to have them shown on screen, this will monitor changes in the value, and give you the operating window in that part of the system. Average pressure, liquid flow, the works…”

“Copy that. What do I need to input?”

“We will need three screens for that, but let’s start with the core circuit…”

In another part of the power plant, Nikola dragged Nguyen back to the mogs. The slightly scorched cat was moaning in pain, and frankly the gargoyle didn’t envy him. Funnily enough, the electric shock had made the cat’s fur stand up straight.

“Bugs with tasers uh?”

“Oh fuck off.” Nguyen groaned, leaning against one of the trucks’ wheels. “The hell was I supposed to do? Shoot them? ‘cause I tried and that was wildly successful.”

“Don’t ask me, I was an army mechanic, not a goddamn tactician. Are you hurt?” Nikola asked, passing the cat a canteen of fresh water.

“I’m fine. Well, not fine at all but I’m pretty sure it’s just pain from the stun grenade and the electric shock and not an actual injury.” He answered before taking a sip out of the canteen.

“If you say so… Still, a flashbang against insects? Never heard of that one before.”

“Eh, in my defense it worked.” Nguyen winced. “Though my ears are still ringing, and I had the ear defenders on.”

“The perks of PPE. If you hadn’t put them on you would be deaf by now.” The gargoyle waved at the scorch mark on Nguyen’s flak jacket. “Same goes for the jacket, for that matter.”

Nikola picked up a box of rations from the back of his truck and opened a box of biscuits. He wasn’t really hungry, and the food was kinda bland to him lately… which was surprising since before the event he used to like his food unseasoned.

On the plus side, he still had a thermos of green tea he had brought along for the ride, which he shared with the injured cook. In passing, he pulled out a tab of painkillers from a pouch on his flak jacket, which he gave to Nguyen.

“Here you go. Injured or not, that might help with the pain. Just don’t take the whole tablet, ain’t good for your kidneys.”

“Thanks” Nguyen swallowed a pill with his tea. “What now?”

Nikola stood up, already downing his cup of tea and attaching the thermos to his belt.

“You stay here and get some rest. I’m getting back to my nest on the roof to keep an eye on the area. The ‘taser bugs’ may be stuck in the generator building, but that doesn’t guarantee they were alone. Stay on the lookout, you never know… By the way, do you have a name idea for those things?”

“A name idea?” The cat cocked his head.

“It’s like 19th century explorers.” Nikola shrugged. “You found a new species, so you get to name it.”

“I’ll think about it.”

Nikola then walked off back to the control building, rifle slung around his shoulder. By then Angelo should be starting the shutdown procedure, but lowering the temperature of all three reactors would still take quite a while.

“Are all monitoring parameters set up for reactor 1?” Kipling asked.

“Affirmative. I got all three screens ready with each circuit. Roberto, you good with the control panels?”

The Italian who was standing at the centre of reactor 1’s controls looked around briefly before giving the minotaur a firm nod.

“We’re set then. What’s your plan?”

The female HPI agent pointed the camera on her side of the teleconference to some more schematics on the wall, as well as a whiteboard.

“We don’t have much time for shutdown per reactor, so we will make full use of the filtering station the power plant is fitted with…”

The agent went on to explain that, even though the system wasn’t supposed to be used in normal circumstances, there were some emergency dump tanks hidden beneath bunkers next to the filtering station. They had been put there to allow replacement of the liquid in the core and secondary circuit in case of emergency, mostly to vent liquid at excessive temperature. Which was exactly what they were going to do.

Those emergency tanks were directly linked to the normally closed discharge line in the pressure relief tank. Using that discharge line presented the risk of venting radioactive liquid, so it was not supposed to be opened, but they were ready to make use of the emergency tanks.

Like the core circuit, those dump tanks would have to receive a dose of neutron absorber to ensure leakage of radiation was kept to a strict minimum. While any liquid they vented to the dump tanks was unlikely to exceed the radiation threshold of the concrete shielding, prudence pointed to taking the extra safe approach. That liquid would be there for a while after all…

The pressure relief system would be used with the injection device. That part of the system was placed just after the pressure relief valve so that they could inject new content in the core circuit without having it immediately removed.

The standard injector was a chemical processing plant that would normally mix regular water with a certain rate of heavy water, the ‘normal’ solution found in the tank. To that, they would add some sodium chloride as coolant. Of course, they would put as much of it in the solution as possible to speed up the cooling, but not so much that they would damage the pump because it started to form particles.

Talk about threading the needle.

The secondary circuit was just as important to the cooling of the reactor as the core circuit because of the heat exchanger that connected the two. Performance on the turbine be damned, they would have to cycle cold water through the exchanger as quickly as possible to amplify cooling effect on the core circuit, which would force them to increase pressure to the very limit of what the secondary circuit could take so that water could still be vaporized by passing through the exchanger.

Thankfully for Angelo, the third circuit (the one that passed through the giant cooling towers) was less affected by the shutdown procedure… provided it kept cooling the secondary circuit. That third part of the system wasn’t pressurized, so that left them less options when it came to overclocking the system.

“How long do you think the procedure will take?” Angelo asked.

“Three hours per reactor, give or take.” Kipling said, waggling her hand.

“But then we have to take into account that you will have to program the system to keep cycling coolant on its own until decay heat has been removed. That’s on the whole system, but I’d add an hour or so to our estimations.” Burked added.

Angelo glanced at his watch. Yeah that would carry him well into the night. Might have to ask one of the guys to make them coffee at some point…

“Molnàr, are you ready to proceed?” Lockwood asked.

“Yes, let’s do this.” The minotaur said, steeling his nerves for what might be the hardest task he ever had to accomplish in his career. “I’d say ‘no pressure’ but the core circuit is at 160 bars so…”

Lockwood gave him a disapproving glare for his attempt at a joke, though in the back he spotted Burke giving him a sympathetic smile. Angelo shook his head and steeled his nerves for what was easily going to be the hardest task he ever had to accomplish in his career.

“Core status: inlet temperature at 302 degrees Celsius, outlet temperature at 329 degrees, overall pressure in the system at 160 bars.” Angelo stated. “Reactor control rods position: 40 percent lowered, ready to go down. Pressurizer status: ready for injection of light/heavy water mixture, no sodium chloride or neutron absorber solution ready.” He checked the status on some valves. “Emergency dump valve: locked in closed position. Turbine RPM in the green and holding steady.”

“Start off by lowering the rods, lower them by increments of 10% and keep an eye on any change in the system.”

Angelo then ordered Roberto to lower the rods to 50%, and then allowed the reactor five minutes for the values to adjust. He threw a glance at the core’s temperature graph.

The inner temperature had been slowly climbing for the past week, but extrapolation of the changes in temperature showed lowering the rod slightly had put a dent in the speed at which the core was heating up.

The process continued until they completely lowered all control rods. Despite the fission being mostly blocked by then, the temperature had only lowered by about five degrees. Angelo voiced his concern about that turn of events.

“No reason to worry so far.” Lockwood explained. “Lowering the rods prevents each fuel cell from continuing the chain reaction with others, but there are still some free neutrons inside the core. It might take some time for the fission to wind down completely, so give it some time. Burke, what’s the temperature at which we can inject the neutron absorber again?”

Before the red haired man had the time to answer his superior, the display on the control screens flickered and the lights shut off for a few seconds before coming on again.

“Roberto what was that?”

“No idea, the controls went in safety mode all of a sudden.”

“Molnàr, what’s going on?” Lockwood asked.

“No clue. Something just went up the sensor wiring and overloaded the control board.” He tapped a few keys on the central computer. “We’re locked in observation mode, no remote control possible. I need a few seconds to check out the alarm log to figure out what went wrong.”

Quick as lightning, Lockwood turned around on his heels to face Kipling. The woman visibly shrank under the African’s stern gaze.

“Kipling, check the schematics of the control system, figure out how we can put the control room back in place as the master station.” His gaze swiveled to face Burke on the other side of the table. “Burke, grab some plans and start looking for the manual controls just in case.”

Angelo was already typing away on the computer, trying to find the location of the alarm log. Roberto came up behind him to translate and guide him through the menus.

“There, open that program: Journal d’enregistrement des alertes. That should be the one.”

The program opened to reveal a timed log of every recorded alert that had occurred in the plant. Some dated back to months ago, but the last one was still blinking, awaiting acknowledgment. It was listed as having occurred five minutes ago.

“What does it say?” Angelo asked the Italian.

“Surtension du réseau de détection et contrôle... That’s a power surge on the control network. Can you open the detailed report?”

Angelo opened the report to reveal half a page worth of text. From the amount of red and yellow on the text, it didn’t look too good. Still, he allowed the Italian a minute to translate the highly technical piece of text.

“Alright.” Roberto finally said. “The surge came from one of the auxiliary power units... the diesel generators that is. Apparently the circuitry around the generator was hit by an overload and that damaged it.”

“Shouldn’t there be equipment to prevent damage from surges by the generator?”

“For the generator only. The surge occurred on the gear around the generator, it hit a sensor and went straight back to the mainframe. That put it in safety mode. There are some damage reports but thankfully it’s just the controls in the generator and a fuse box halfway to the mainframe that have been burnt out. We definitely lost remote control on the generator, but still got the sensors.”

Suddenly, Angelo snapped his fingers and brought up the CCTV control menu.

“Roberto, what’s the number on the overloaded generator?”

“Number two. Why?”

“Taser bugs, that’s why.”

The minotaur brought up a live feed from the cameras on screen, showing the inside of the stricken generator building. There indeed was a swarm of the trapped bugs, and they were firing bolts of lightning left and right at every opportunity. Angelo also took note of the demonic circle burned into the floor of the building.

“Well I’ll be damned. That’s one thing to hear Nguyen talk about it, but that’s another to see it for myself.” Roberto commented over his shoulder.

“Molnàr, what’s going on in there?” Lockwood asked in a severe tone.

“We found the source of the surge that’s what. Some kind of insect that fires bolts of electricity. Injured a member of our team too.”

“Now is not the time or place to crack jokes.”

“I’m serious.” Angelo said, pointing the laptop’s camera at the screen showing the CCTV feed. “There, swarm of bugs, shoots lightning. Not the first case we’ve had of some weird err... monsters appearing. See the demonic circle on the floor? That’s been present every time we met a monster like that.”

“We were not aware of such an occurrence. You are aware this will go up our chain of command?”

“Duly noted. I would have expected our Captain to mention that to Agent Eko but sounds like I was mistaken. Regardless...” He waggled a finger towards the screen. “Got an idea on how to address that issue? They injured one member of our group but he managed to pull the fire alarm and trap them in there.”

“Can’t let them keep frying the circuitry like that, they could wind up causing actual damage to the mainframe. They really look angry, what did your guy do?”

“Shot in their general direction and threw a flashbang at them. Might explain why they’re flying around like angry bees.”

Angelo observed the African scratch his chin pensively before he turned to Kipling who was still going over some schematics.

“Can’t say I’m an expert in bug removal but I might have an idea. Kipling, what’s the firefighting equipment in the generator building and how can we isolate it from the rest of the network?”

“Each generator is fitted with a fixed carbon dioxide installation. There should be a set of industrial high capacity circuit breakers to disconnect the building from the network. Burke, can you locate breaker GD15-A on the plans?”

The redheaded man started to quickly flip through several large sheets of paper before stopping at the plan for the generator building. He traced the circuit with a finger before stopping, eyebrows raised.

“Found it, but we might have a problem.”

“Come on; don’t go telling me the breaker we want is inside the building. For one that’s cheesy as hell, for second that’s such a glaring design flaw it makes the Death Star look well designed.” Angelo complained.

“Actually no. It’s outside. But there are two breakers we need to activate on the roof of that building if we want to reroute power from generators one and three towards reactor two, which will be needed once the reactor cools down to such a point that it doesn’t generate enough power to activate its own turbine and drive the pumps. Shoddy design I reckon, but they didn’t modify it over the thirty years that the plant has been operational. A pity, considering a simple ladder outside the building would have done the trick.”

Burke went on to list off the name of each breaker they would have to activate to reroute the power the way they wanted, which was a lot. Angelo dutifully wrote down each name and location for the breakers, as well as the order Burke insisted to activate them in.

“Can’t we use external power for the shutdown? From the regional grid I mean. We saw plenty of wind turbines coming here.”

“True as that may be, and we will make use of that power, it fluctuates too much to reliably cool down the reactor starting from the point we wish to leave them at. When you leave the power plant you will turn on the generators to continuously keep driving the cooling system until they empty their tanks, and only then will the core be cool enough that we can trust the regional grid to power the system. That makes it one week on diesel power at low rpm before the tank is empty and the regional grid takes over. Trust me, I checked my calculations, past that point the core will be cool enough that green power will be enough despite the fluctuations.” Burke explained.

“In any case…” Lockwood added after his subordinate stopped talking. “I have an idea that should rid us of that electric pest problem. You should be familiar with fixed carbon dioxide systems, so just activate it in generator two to freeze the bugs.” The African man shrugged. “Worst case scenario, they’re resistant to extreme cold and we have to wait ‘til the CO2 suffocates them.”

That he could get behind. While Kipling was still trying to figure out how to restore control over to the control room, Angelo walked outside radio in hand to get in contact with Nikola. The gargoyle had made his way back to the roof after helping Nguyen, and from the tone in his voice was rather bored. Good, now he would have something to help out with said boredom.

“Niko, you remember how to activate a fixed CO2 installation? Over.”

“Affirmative, why the question? Over.” The gargoyle answered through his walkie-talkie.

“I need you to activate the installation in the generator building where Nguyen trapped the bugs. That, and I got a couple breakers for you to activate. Over.”

“Hold on, lemme get a hold of my notebook first. How many breakers are we talking? Over.”

“Well first off you have the isolating breaker for generator two. That one is priority ‘cause we want to cut off the electric bugs from the network ASAP. Name’s breaker GD15-A; and it’s outside the building under a shed on the North side. Can’t miss it with the cables going around it. Over.”

“So first I do that one, and then I activate the CO2? Over.” Niko asked.

“Correct. Then you’ve got a number of breakers to activate in a specific order. Last ones are on the roof of generator two and there is no external access so it will have to be vented before you get to it, but I should be able to do that from here after making sure the bugs are dead. Plenty of time for that however. You ready to write that down? Over.”

“Fire away chief. Over.”

Back in the control room, Kipling had found out how to regain control of the plant and was explaining it to Roberto, with the cat listening intently to the woman’s description of how to go about it.

“It’s in the control building. You need to get to the basement, that’s where they put the mainframe. Most of the servers there are of no interest to us since it’s just data storage and management files. What matters is the central computer, which is connected to the sensor processor. If the signal lines were overloaded then that forced a reset on the processor, but the connection with the central computer is fitted with an automatic disconnect to prevent a local surge from frying the whole system. Locate the connection locker next to the central computer, and turn on the automatic switch that failed to reconnect. Worst case scenario it’s fried completely and you will have to replace it, but there should be parts lying in a supply storage somewhere. No issue replacing a burnt out fuse. Copy?”

“Bit of a mouthful, but I got the gist of it. Get down to the mainframe, find the fuse box and fix it. Easy enough. That’s all?”

The pudgy woman just gave him a tired nod. Behind her, Lockwood gave him a stare that clearly said something along the lines of: ‘You best be going, or else…’.

The cat didn’t wish to garner the ire of the haughty South African, so he quickly left the room, dodging Angelo on the way out.

Outside the building, Nikola had already slid down the fire ladder on the roof of the control building and was making his way to the generator building. He stopped by Nguyen to tell him to watch the gate while he was busy with the breakers. The cook complied happily, just having to turn in the opposite direction from where he was making a thermos of coffee to get a look at the gate.

The shed with the isolating breaker wasn’t too hard to locate: it was painted bright red to attract firemen’s attention, leaning against the Northern wall of the generator building.

The less convenient part was that Nikola had to go back to the trucks to fetch a pair of bolt cutters to get through the padlock keeping the door shut. Still, that barely took him a minute at jogging pace.

As a testimony to the power plant having avoided any incident during the course of its existence, most of the inside of the shed was covered in cobwebs, with only the breaker remaining uncovered by spider silk due to being regularly changed. The gargoyle quickly pulled the lever next to the massive multi-thousand amperes breaker, the springs inside the system pulling it shut with a loud ‘clang!’

Nikola signaled Angelo that the breaker was down via radio before moving on to a larger building adjoining the generator housing. The manifold going out of its roof and into the side of the generator building made it very clear it was the room in which they stored the CO2 bottles, if the numerous signs on its walls weren’t enough of a hint.

One application of bolt cutters later, Nikola was inside and going over the layout of the room. On either side of the door were rows of tall cylinders filled with compressed CO2, all hooked up to pipes that met in the center of the room. Thanks to signs laid out around the room, the gargoyle was able to deduce that each row of bottles made up a dose of CO2 to fill the room, and there was a control valve in the center of the piping to select which row he wanted to use before the pipes left for the generator building.

Easy enough, he thought, as he went through one row of bottles pulling off their safety pins. The control valve in the center was even fitted with a manometer that told him when the system was ready to deliver its shot. The Bulgarian quickly checked which row he had selected before setting up the control valve.

The pipes started to whistle as they filled up with carbon dioxide. Nikola spotted small specks of frost already forming at the joints in the piping. When the manometer on the control valve reached its operational range, the gargoyle left the building, being very careful to close the door behind him.

Next to the door was a large red lever in a box, held in place by a safety pin. The release control, because you the CO2 shouldn’t be fired from within the bottle storage room (or the targeted room, obviously). Nikola ripped off the safety pin and called up Angelo on his radio to check if the minotaur was ready. He had to wait a minute or two for his superior to bring up the diesel generator on his CCTV screen before finally getting the green light.

Upon pulling the lever, a loud siren rang out as the gas raced through the piping. Nikola spied more frost forming inside of the bottle storage room as each bottle quickly discharged its icy content. The main reason behind using CO2 in a fire suppression system wasn’t because of the cold it generated, but because it smothered fires. The freezing effect was supposed to just be a neat side-effect, though in this case it was the main reason they used it.

The gargoyle waited for Angelo to tell him he was good to go on with re-routing the current with the breakers, his tail idly swinging back and forth as he waited. Agile as it may have been, Nikola didn’t have half as much control over the appendage as he wanted to, and it being clad in a restrictive sleeve of fabric didn’t really help. Sure, he may have been able to instinctively keep it from getting stuck in random doors, but he still had issues with overbalancing and knocking things over whenever he tried to turn around too quickly.

Rahul had been quite cross about it the last time he broke a jar of mayonnaise in the cafeteria. Eh, not like he could help it, he thought, as his tail tauntingly swung in front of him before he swatted it aside with a snort.

“Angelo to Nikola, you’re good to go. The bugs are completely frozen to a wall, so now you just need to give me time to vent the place after Roberto restores the control system. Give it half an hour or so. Out.”

All the time he could ever ask for to just go turn some breakers at his own pace. Good, that would give Nguyen the time needed to finish the coffee.

Once Angelo was given the time to vent all the carbon dioxide they had pumped inside the generator room, he sent in Nikola to activate the last breakers.

If the bottle storage room had fallen victim to a light frost coating upon activating the fire suppression system, the generator was even more marked by the injection of CO2. Lumps of dry ice and snow littered the floor and every sharp edge in the now freezing room, and Nikola’s breath formed a cloud as he exhaled. An icicle crashed down on the floor the moment he opened the door.

The taser bugs had been resting on a wall at the moment of activation. They were now stuck to said wall, the swarm frozen together in one solid lump of ice. The gargoyle stopped by to examine them, taking note of their still shiny eyes and the ever present blue glow that surrounded them. Taking out a pair of pliers, he ripped off a cluster of bugs which he shoved into a pouch of his flak jacket.

Might as well take a trophy if they could, not like there was any risk of them coming back to life since surviving being flash-frozen like that only ever came true in science-fiction.

The reason the last breakers were such trouble was due to a design oversight in the generator building. Most of the electric lines around the power plant ran above ground alongside the structures that supported all of the non-radioactive piping in order to save space and simplify the layout.

While it did have the upside of making it clear to follow and inspect lines, some engineer had at some point thought it was a good idea to put the re-routing breakers on the roof. That idea wouldn’t have been that big of a problem if said engineer had had the presence of mind to put an external access to the roof. But of course not, the only way to reach the roof, and that particularly critical equipment, was through a ladder inside the generator building.

The fact that the generators being inaccessible and power needing to be redirected were intrinsically tied seemed to have gone over said engineer’s head.

And thus, the gargoyle found himself climbing the thin ladder to the roof. He had been forced to put on some gloves thanks to the metal of the ladder being so bloody cold after exposure to the carbon dioxide, but the climb wasn’t that difficult compared to some of the tighter spaces inside of Amandine’s engine room. He did have to stop when part of his mane stuck to the metal halfway up the ladder though. He would have to spare the time to style it when he got back to the ship.

With an annoyed grumble, Nikola practically punched open the hatch at the top of the ladder. A minute later, Angelo was receiving a radio call telling him all breakers had been activated in the correct order.

As for the gargoyle, he sat down on the roof to enjoy the sight while he was up there. Pulling out a cigarette, he let his gaze wander in the direction of the burning town off in the distance.

“We have now regained control of the plant, and all lines have been re-routed in preparation for the shutdown.” Angelo said to the HPI agent on the other end of the teleconference.

“About damn time.” Lockwood snorted. “We are way behind schedule thanks to this incident.”

“Be certain that I would have done my best to avoid this, had it been possible to predict it.” Angelo answered through gritted teeth. The African’s behavior was seriously starting to get on his nerves. “As it stands, our models in risk analysis do not account for the appearance of electricity related monstrous creatures.” He added sarcastically.

That seemed to hit its mark as Lockwood’s composure wavered for a second before he pulled himself together. Behind the man, Burke mouthed for Angelo to stop antagonizing the man, repeatedly pointing to a sheet of paper where he had quickly scribbled ‘bad idea’. The minotaur ignored him, if the man didn’t have the balls to stand up to his annoying superior, that wasn’t his problem.

“I believe we were ready to begin injections of liquid coolant. The core temperature remains at an average of 310 degrees.”

“That means it’s down five degrees over… about an hour?” Kipling asked from the back of the room where she was taking notes on a tablet.

“That is correct.” Angelo nodded. “The loss in pressure due to the cooling resulted in the injection of regular water some ten minutes ago to maintain it at 160 bars. Shall we begin?”

“Let’s do it.” Burke said. “My estimations are that we will need between three and five changes of coolant per reactor to bring them down to the right temperature. No time to waste then.”

Following instructions from the HPI specialists and Roberto’s help in translating the controls, Angelo began to prep a ‘shot’ of sodium enriched coolant in the system’s chemical processing plant. Burke was very stringent on the content of the shot, insisting on mixing the water with a very precise amount of sodium and heavy water.

When they were certain the shot was mixed to the optimal concentration, Burke finally allowed Angelo to inject it in the core circuit. For a few minutes, they heard the whirring noise of the pressure relief system making its work on the core circuit trying to keep the pressure stable. After a few tense moments, the noise stopped and the pressure graph on Angelo’s screen stabilized.

For about half an hour, the temperature went down until it eventually reached a plateau. Burke explained it was normal and went on to tell Angelo a new mix of concentrations for the following shot they would inject in the reactor. The HPI engineer was very keen on designing the most optimal mix of coolant for each plateau of temperature they reached, and Angelo didn’t deem his own expertise sufficient to contradict the short redheaded man.

They continued the process of injecting a new mix of coolant in the reactor for a few times before they had to stop because the temperature had gotten so low that the turbine stopped producing enough power to drive its own pumps. A fact they couldn’t ignore since the secondary circuit provided some crucial cooling effect via the heat exchanger that connected it with the core circuit.

The task of redirecting power to the pumps was one he was more familiar with, and that was done rather quickly considering Nikola had already done most of the required preparations by turning the breakers. Within minutes, the pumps were starting up again, much to Angelo’s relief: the lapse in cooling caused by the loss of power had made the core circuit’s temperature rise back by a couple degrees.

Things could have gone bad real quick had they not expected that turn of event…

Thanks in no small part to the advice of the HPI engineers, Angelo managed to bring down the temperature of the reactor to the desired level in a few hours and as many injections of coolant. The pressure relief system opened a few times to release liquid into the emergency tanks, which had the minotaur worried until he got the chance the check out the level inside of them.

For all the faults he wanted to blame on the designers, he didn’t have anything bad to say about that system in particular. Every time the pressure relief valve opened to vent some liquid, it had to first transit through a ‘prep’ circuit where it was cooled down and mixed with a healthy dose of neutron absorber before being pumped out to the emergency tanks. While that liquid was still very much radioactive, none of what they vented that day exceeded the capabilities of the shielding around the tanks.

Furthermore, even after all the venting of liquid in the core circuit they had done, they barely reached a third of the maximum volume in the tank. That might have caused some issues… if each reactor didn’t have its own separate dump tank.

So there he sat at the controls of a power plant with a freakishly well designed core control system, but a backup power grid that was unable to plan ahead of its own systems being damaged. Puzzling, but nothing he couldn’t work with.

“Have we reached the right temperature now?” Lockwood asked impatiently, pacing around the room he was stuck in with his two colleagues.

“We plateaued about six degrees below the maximum temperature for the neutron absorber.” Angelo answered after a quick glance at his screen. The line depicting the average core temperature was lazily oscillating well below the thick red line indicating their goal temperature and showed no sign of climbing back up at the moment. More reassuring even, was that the inlet and outlet temperature on his instruments were steadily getting closer to each other, meaning the core wasn’t emitting as much heat as before.

“Well, now that it’s stable we’re good to inject the neutron absorber then. I just need a couple minutes to adjust the mixture to the right temperature and make sure we don’t accidentally vent more coolant than we inject, then we can begin the last phase for this reactor.” Burke said. The man was typing frenetically on a laptop in the back of the room. “Wouldn’t want to ruin that effort of bringing the temperature down now, would we?”

Once they got the numbers right for the last injection, the last phase of their work on the reactor happened rather quickly. The temperature started to show a very slow but steady decrease, indicating the fuel rods had finally stopped chain-reacting with each other.

“Getting rid of all the decay heat will take time.” Lockwood began. “We can’t expect to do it all in a day, but what we can do is stop the chain reaction and begin the process of cooling down the core. At first we will set the diesel generators to power the system until they run out of fuel. That alone ought to bring the core to a relatively safe level. For anything that occurs past that point, we will set up the system so that it leaches off of the renewable energy that’s generated by the regional grid. Not much power, but enough to drive the pumps and keep the system cool.”

“So we start the generators now?” Angelo asked.

“Not yet. We will do it once all reactors are in their cooling phase and the turbines stop producing anything. In the meantime, we will still use all the nuclear power we can, understood?”

“Crystal clear.” The minotaur nodded.

At the rate the regional grid would cool them; it would take weeks for the reactors to reach a safe temperature. Thankfully, there was little risk of things going awry past that point.

Shutting down the other two reactors took them another couple hours. By the time they were finished and concluded the whole affair by turning on a single diesel generator to power the pumps, the sun had long set and Angelo had gone through several thermos of coffee, courtesy of Nguyen who brought him a new one frequently.

Following Lockwood’s directions, Angelo set the generator to the lowest possible rpm before setting up the grid so that it took power from around the plant once the generator ran out of fuel. They double checked all connections manually before eventually agreeing the plant was ready to enter its long term cooling phase. Lockwood made Angelo promise to check out the systems the following morning before he left and to call them if their efforts turned out to be insufficient before the African finally left the conference room at a brisk pace.

That only left Burke and Kipling in the conference room. The redhead gave Angelo a tired smile as he served himself a cup of coffee.

“Hope you don’t take his behavior personally. Since Lockwood is the chief of nuclear operations he’s had to manage the shutdown procedures for the entire American continent, which still isn’t finished I must add, and now he’s got the European plants to look forward to. Usually he’s not so…” Burke tried.

“That big of an asshole?” Angelo said, getting a hesitant shrug from Burke as an answer. “It’s fine, I understand. Lotsa work, and I don’t think your organization is doing too good on morale right now, uh?”

“We really only avoided a full blown nuclear catastrophe by pure luck because we found your ship.” Kipling said. “Understandably, the higher ups are not too happy about it and Lockwood is having to deflect all kinds of flak from them when they got the idea his division was responsible for the segregation of nuclear remote access across all facilities. We’re all in a tight spot at the moment, and we still have to prepare the plans to assist your shipmates with Doel’s reactors later…”

“Best of luck with those reactors. Just tell your superior to lay off the stimulants; I could see his eyelid ticking from across the teleconference.”

Not giving the HPI engineers the time to respond, Angelo bid his farewell and closed the teleconference with a soft tap on the laptop’s keyboard. He let out a tired groan and leaned back in his chair.

On the laptop’s screen, the timer had stopped the teleconference just short of eleven hours. Eleven hours of continuous surveillance and careful manipulations to avoid nuclear annihilation… but he had done it. He, a mere marine engineer, had managed to shut down a nuclear power plant. Granted that was done with satellite assistance from other engineers that were actually competent, but still… Biggest achievement of his career by a long stretch.

Angelo swiveled in his chair to face Roberto. The Italian cat was napping in a chair in a corner of the room, having long ago finished his translation business. With the right lightning, the black furred bipedal cat with white spots here and there on his coat might have looked cute.

To a person that liked cats.

Angelo didn’t, so he just woke up his colleague with a sharp clap of his hands (since he had yet to figure out how to whistle with a muzzle). Roberto jerked awake as if the minotaur had slapped him, looking blearily left and right.

“Shutdown is done Rob’.” Angelo said, giving the cat a few seconds to wake up fully. “I’m fucking tired, and I seriously need to grab something to eat. Care to finish this all? Report to the Captain and maybe pack up the laptop and antenna if you’ve got the heart to do it.” He added, moving towards the exit.

The cat held up a paw to stop Angelo from leaving just yet and let out a wide yawn. He pulled out a small black box the size of a cigarette pack with a LCD screen from his pocket and held it towards Angelo.

“Meant to give you that earlier. I found this pager in the server room. Turns out, some of the plant’s personnel were using them before the cataclysm so they could leave the control room and still be alerted whenever an alert sprang up. Might be useful if anything happens overnight.”

With a small word of thanks, Angelo pocketed the device and left the control room. It was now night outside, and the city off in the distance was still burning, casting a red light against the glass structure of the control building.

Lacking anyone to activate them, the pole lights around the compound remained turned off, unlike the many automatically activated street lights that Angelo could see lining the streets outside. The orange-toned lamps coursed through the streets and countryside surrounding the power plant like dull streamers. On top of these so-called streamers were the blinking white lights of the many wind turbines that topped hills in the region.

Angelo allowed himself to drink in the peaceful sight and wind down after the busy day he’d just had. He closed his eyes and let out a long, drawn out breath; thinking about the past events.

His reaction to Lockwood’s behavior surprised him. Usually when confronted with people of such… character, he would just ignore it, stay professional and keep going. No point in seeking confrontation, which was what he had tried to do in the beginning. The odd part was that towards the end, the African engineer had started to grate on his nerves so much that something inside him snapped and he started to retort to Lockwood’s jab.

Of course that didn’t mean he just started yelling at the guy, Angelo was still very much in control of his emotions. But the sole fact that he had bitten back was unlike him, and the thought worried him. There was a chance that the transformation had brought on small mental changes…

Or he could be wrong and that was a natural change in his character.

The minotaur snorted and turned away from the windows. No sense dwelling on that at the moment, he wanted to catch as much shuteye as he could before they went for the HPI facility the next day. Hypothetical mental changes were something he might entertain discussing with someone when they got back to the ship.

Chapter 14: The Facility

Something has gone wrong. We don't seem to have an archived copy of that chapter.

Chapter 15: Under the Hill

Minutes before the fighting with the quarry eels started two floors above, Angelo and Nguyen entered the floor of the control room.

That part of the facility was, if it was even possible, even more high tech than the rest, and richly decorated too. The floor was covered in a red carpet and the walls were lined with laminated wall panels behind which soft lights had been installed, making the lighting here much less aggressive than the industrial lights found on the generator and shield level. The utilitarian parts were still visible however: a mesh of wire ran along the roof of the tunnels on this level and control panels and ventilation fans remained visible at regular intervals. The gun emplacements guarding the entrance on that level were even hidden behind subtle Plexiglas windows, ready to pop up at any moment.

A guard post was set up directly by the entrance, but the two guards that had been present at the moment the radiation hit were… unable to keep up their duties. Still, Angelo had to admit, the HPI knew how to equip their guys.

Over a Kevlar reinforced version of the usual HPI coveralls, the Belgian and the French guard (as shown by the flags on their shoulder) were wearing extensive ceramic body armor. The sheer weight of all that plating would have been enough to make the average human collapse, but it seemed the HPI (this branch at least) had figured out how to make powered exoskeletons, as shown by the frame that wrapped around their bodies just below the armor plates. Both of them were armed with what looked like a heavily improved version of the P90 sub machinegun (of which they had a couple copies themselves inside of Amandine’s armory, albeit unimproved). Angelo couldn’t see their faces as they were hidden behind balaclavas and their eyes were masked by the thick ballistic plate of their helmets’ visors, but their expression wouldn’t have been pleasant to look at considering the yellow trickle of spit and vomit that pierced the balaclavas.

One of them had had enough time to react to the cataclysm before dying and had jabbed an auto-injector pen in his leg, for all the good the medicine did. He was leaning halfway against the guard post, his cadaver still held up in a bizarre mockery of a mannequin by the immobile servos of his exoskeleton.

The duo left the dead guards behind and progressed down the hallway following indications on the walls that pointed to the control room.

Along the way, they passed many offices and conference rooms. Most of them were empty, but some held what must have been HPI executives. Some were dressed in coveralls, albeit with silver or gold trim on the collar, while others wore suits befitting their rank as high standing members of the European branch. One particularly large and well furnished office held the corpse of one redheaded woman, the plate on the door of the office labeling her as the branch director. She had been in the process of reviewing paperwork when the Event hit, and now she laid face down on her desk, her fiery hair forming a halo around her head.

Behind him, Angelo could see that Nguyen wasn’t too comfortable at the sight of all the corpses around them. He gave the cat a sympathetic pat on the shoulder before urging him onward to the control room. Time was of the essence, visiting the place could wait.

A couple turns later, they passed a large server room which seemed to be the clustering point of all the wiring that passed overhead. Cold air from the cooling equipment drifted from inside the room, making both sailors shudder a bit. A lone technician laid sprawled amidst the servers, surrounded by dismantled electronics and loose wire.

Next to the server room was a metal sliding door with the letters ‘control room’ written in white on it. No less than four gun emplacements surrounded the door, leaving them little doubt about the importance of the room. Angelo silently typed the override code on a computer beside the door, making it slide upward with the hiss of a pneumatic system, revealing a small airlock. Nguyen and he went inside, though it was a bit of a tight fit considering the minotaur’s large frame. He gave the cat a sheepish smile as he leaned forward to avoid scratching the roof with his horns.

After cycling the air a couple times, the airlock’s inner door slid up to show them a wide staircase that opened up to the sides after a couple meters. Directly on their right was a door that led to what looked like a situation room, which they followed. The room had a long table in its center, and numerous screens occupied its walls on one side, while the other side was occupied by a glass window that showed them the control room. At the head of the table was a tall leather chair, the director’s chair for when their branch leaders gathered there. Behind that chair was another door that led to a balcony overlooking the control room.

It was designed like some sort of auditorium: the staircase that came after the airlock kept going down a gently sloped floor until it reached a platform. Workstations were installed along the slope, allowing every user of the control room to get a look at the screens on the very tall wall at the end of the slope. The sheer size of the room would have made the war rooms of the Pentagon and the Kremlin look tiny, and the level of technology present outdid anything the two seafarers could think of. The computers that equipped each workstation looked at least two generations ahead of the best the market could field at the time of the Event.

Looking up, Angelo spotted several walkways fixed to the roof of the room, allowing technicians access to the complex maze of wires that ran around the nerve center of the European HPI.

One thing of note he observed too, were the projectors installed at regular intervals around the room, accompanied by a pedestal right in front of the screens at the base of the slope. The way it was presented, it looked like it was important to the working of the control room somehow…

They made their way back out of the situation room and went down the stairs into the control proper, having found nothing of immediate use to them inside it. Angelo shuddered, the control room’s atmosphere was cold due to all the cooling required for the computers, and the lighting was kept at a low level. Heading to the central workstations at the top of the slope, Angelo pushed the corpse of the lone HPI agent that had been keeping watch when the radiation hit out of the way, making a quick sign of the cross in passing.

While his superior was busy with the central console, Nguyen approached the mysterious pedestal at the bottom of the slope. The thing was hooked to a lot of wiring, but didn’t seem to have much in the way of controls: a single on/off button stood out against the aluminum casing of the pedestal.

Naturally, Nguyen pressed it.

The pedestal hummed to life, some lines in its casing lighting up with an icy blue glow. All of the projectors around the room flickered to life, focusing on the pedestal in front of the bewildered cat.

“What’s going on?” Angelo asked, tearing his muzzle away from the screens in front of him.

“I don’t know I just pressed the ‘on’ button!” Nguyen cried out.

Before the minotaur had the time to give his subordinate a stinging remark about pushing buttons he didn’t know shit about, the projectors let out a soft ‘beep’. Light coalesced around one point above the pedestal, shaping up to form one very clear holographic display.

“’Initializing control room assistance system: Athena (build 0.12.3)’. Boss, looks like that could help us.” Nguyen read out.

“We don’t know how it even works; let’s not get our hopes up.”

A loading bar appeared beneath the floating text. When it reached 100%, it disappeared for a second, before being replaced by the form of a statuesque woman floating in the air. The woman was clad in a toga, held at the waist by a string of rope. On her head, she wore a helmet straight out of Ancient Greece which hid her facial features. She held a long hafted spear in one hand, and a shield in the other.

The hologram was truly stunning, though it had its limitations. For one, it wasn’t particularly stable, flickering every few seconds; and for second, it was monochrome. Weirdly enough, both of those limitations added up to give the figure an even more ethereal look, like a golden apparition that had come down to grace the Earth with its presence.

The figure slowly turned its head in the direction of Angelo, stoically staring at the engineer across the length of the control room.

“Warning: no user logged in at command station. Please start operating procedures from the command station.” It uttered in a flat voice.

“She talks just like the GPS lady!” Nguyen blurted out.

“’It’ cook, it’s a machine, not a… person” He caught himself before saying human. “They probably programmed it with a generic voice. I think it’s only allowed to interact if a user is logged in, wait a sec.” Angelo said, tapping the keyboard on the computer in front of him.

The screen came to life, showing a login menu. The minotaur just typed the override code once again, bypassing the need for any user ID. The hologram jerked its head when he typed the code.

“Starting assistance process. Override code detected, please state your facility of origin.”

“North American facility.” She didn’t need to know they weren’t from the HPI. “Present to reestablish communications between facilities.” Angelo answered, leaning down towards a microphone inserted in the desk in front of him.

“Acknowledged.” The hologram flickered once. “You have thirty-seven alarms pending acknowledgment…”

“Skip.” Angelo said firmly. He had no time to review alarms he was probably already aware of.

“Please state your request.”

“Show me the security cameras.” He tried. “Two floors above us.”

“Sending live feed for hydroponics to main screen.” The hologram complied.

The screens, small and large that occupied the large wall at one end of the control room came to life showing them every camera (and boy was there a lot of them) on the requested floor. On one screen, Nguyen pointed out their two companions slowly progressing through the level, guns at the ready. Good, they had yet to find the monsters… which Angelo spotted on another screen, quickly identifying them as the three quarry eels they had met earlier.

Too bad he couldn’t make heads or tail of the order in which the rooms came. Time to try something else.

“Athena.” At least it’s what he assumed the program was called. “Show me the floor plan of the hydroponics. Highlight camera positions.”

The computer program complied with the request, pulling out a giant plan on the main screen. That’s one step forward...

“Nguyen?” Angelo asked.

“Yes?” The cat said, halfway turning towards the minotaur.

“Can you try and memorize the layout of that floor and pair it with the cameras? I need you to guide Niko and Rob once I find the PA system.”

The cat gave a sharp nod and turned back to face the large screen. Behind his console, Angelo leaned down to speak into the microphone.

“Athena, highlight the gun emplacements too.” He said, careful to pronounce his sentences clearly so the hologram would be able to pick up what he meant.

Only the gun emplacements at the entrance of the hydroponics popped up on the map. In front of him, he saw Nguyen scratch his chin pensively as he pieced together what the cameras were showing him and placing it mentally on the map.

“How can we control the guns?” He tried.

“Please repeat your question.” The computer droned.

“Athena, tell me how the gun systems work.” He repeated slowly.

The hologram pointed its lance at a row of computers towards the middle of the control room, each equipped with a joystick.

“The Remote Control Heavy Defense System or RCHDS is a core component of the facility’s defensive network. Each gun emplacement is equipped with a single F2 20mm gun. All of the guns inside the underground sections of the facility have been modified with a short barrel and autoloading system…”

“Skip. How can I control them?”

“Warning, each user must first receive the safe use briefing before being allowed to manipulate the gun controls. Untrained use of the weapon system may result in injuries ranging from loss of life to loss of…”

“Skip.” Angelo said impatiently. “My colleagues are in danger! How long is your fucking briefing?”

“This unit is authorized to provide the abridged fifteen minutes version of the briefing, do you wish to proceed?”

“Negative. I will just use the override code and figure it out myself you useless piece of code.” He growled out, already walking towards the weapon stations.

“Warning, each user must first…”

“Shut the fuck up!” Angelo yelled.

He plopped himself down in a seat in front of one of the weapon stations, trying to make sense of it. The controls seemed rather complicated, though the system was laid out with two screens per station: one normal, another obviously being military hardware in front of the joystick. In a drawer below the stations, Angelo found an instruction manual which he tauntingly held up for the hologram to see.

Now to figure out how to work the guns…

On Nguyen’s side, the cat had finished memorizing the floor layout and was tracking the progress of Nikola’s team on the map in front of him. Seeing his superior busy with the guns, he made his way towards the central station and decided to ask Athena about the PA system.

The blasted computer had him repeat himself four times in a row because of his accent, but he managed to get the hologram speaking (after copiously insulting it in Vietnamese on the last try).

“To use the general announcement system, activate the option in the emergency tab on the central station and speak into the microphone on your right.” A small mic popped up out of the desk on Nguyen’s right.

“Uh… simple enough, and she ain’t ranting about safety this time.”

“Warning: use of the PA sys…”

“Skip” He said.

Before he had time to even open the menu to activate the mic, a blur of movement on the cameras drew his attention.

Niko and Rob had finally reached the eels. Fortunately, they hadn’t engaged them yet, but they were dangerously close.

“Angelo, if you’re gonna figure out those guns, now is the right time.”

“Need a couple more minutes, why what’s…” The minotaur trailed off when he looked up from his manual and towards the screens. “Shit. Can you tell them to wait?”

“Not without alerting the eels.”

Angelo swore and started flipping through the manual at an accelerated pace. His pace only increased when their two companions opened fire on the eels and were chased down the hallways. They hurried into an office with the three monsters pursuing them, their immense size crushing or pushing aside anything in their path.

Roberto’s claws tapped impatiently on the barrel of the machinegun in front of him. The suspense was starting to get on his nerves.

Down the hallway, the three eels were methodically checking one office after another. There was just no way a mere beast could be that smart, animals don’t do searches, much less in a methodical pattern like that.

The cat winced when he heard yet another door be slammed open by the large creatures, making him retract his claws in surprise. That sounded like it was three, maybe four offices next to them? He didn’t know.

His gaze drifted to the bandaged gargoyle in the room. Nikola was in pain, that much was very clear. The light dose of painkiller he had given him was barely enough to dull the pain, but he didn’t have anything better to give him. The gargoyle was in the process of refilling his spent magazine with loose ammunition from a pouch on his flak jacket, making a barely audible ‘clink’ every time he inserted a new round in the mag. For a second, Roberto’s eyes fixated on the blood stains that marked Nikola’s coveralls and the bandage he had wrapped around his head.

Another slamming noise down the hallway. Two doors left. The Italian checked if his gun was ready to open fire. Half a belt of ammo left and no monster killed to show for it.

Like a godsend, the PA system finally sprang to life with Nguyen’s accented voice. Roberto thanked whatever Gods there were in this wretched world for that lifesaver.

“We’re ready guys! I got you on the cameras, just follow my instructions and you will be fine.”

Roberto gave a thumbs up in the direction of the nearest security camera while Nikola slowly stood up, biting back a pained groan.

“Fire on your left when you exit, then run directly ahead through a supply closet.”

The cat hoisted up his machinegun and quickly checked on his companion. The injured gargoyle gave him a grim nod before approaching the door. In a whisper, Nikola counted down.

“Three.”

“Two.”

“One”

Nikola pushed the door open in one swift motion and ran out the door, Roberto in tow. A few meters on their left, they saw the three eels and immediately opened fire on them, both sailors shooting a short burst from the hip.

Only a few shots hit, but that was enough to make the eels recoil in pain and give them enough time to build up some distance between them and the monsters. Knowing his colleague was injured, Roberto willingly stayed behind to let him set the pace, though he didn’t have to slow down too much.

Adrenaline does wonders sometimes.

The quarry eels were surprisingly fast for monsters of their size, but Nguyen had made up for it by guiding them through as many enclosed spaces as possible such as supply closets and maintenance corridors, keeping the sailors just ahead of their pursuers.

The way the Vietnamese guided them quickly made them both lose their bearings as he sent them through several turns and twisting hallways. Roberto stopped trying to remember where they were after the first few turns to focus on his running. He could feel the sweat building up under his fur, and the weight of the machinegun cradled in his paws was starting to wear him out. He wasn’t as strong as he used to be when he was human, and the gun was already heavy for trained soldiers, let alone a secretary. If this kept up like this, he might end up as dinner for the large burrowing eels.

Ahead of him, Nikola was having difficulties of his own. He didn’t have the problem of Roberto’s thick fur retaining too much heat, but his injuries and lack of balance more than made up for it. With one hand extended to keep his balance and the other cradling his injured ribs, he had let his rifle hang freely in its sling.

“Keep it up guys you’re on the last stretch!” Nguyen said encouragingly.

Behind them, the eels had slowly been gaining on them for the last few minutes of running. With a grunt, Roberto forced himself to pump his legs faster. He was starting to recognize where they were.

Just as they approached the entrance of the hydroponics level, the ground exploded right behind them when the alpha eel burst from the ground, sending debris all over the place and the two sailors flying forward. One flying piece of rebar would have skewered Roberto had he not felt the urge to lean ever so slightly to the side a second before. Instead, both Niko and Rob slid the rest of the way to the entrance hall.

Unable to make out anything through the cloud of dust the alpha had caused, Roberto wildly dumped the rest of his ammunition in the general direction of the eels. The machinegun sang its deadly tune, filling the hallway with supersonic lead and eliciting a few sharp screams from the monsters before a click signaled he had reached the end of the ammo belt.

A whirr above him attracted his attention as one of the gun emplacements came to life, its protection panels sliding away to make room for the deadly autocannon. With a loud ‘click-clack’, it loaded the first round in its chamber, and then waited, the green gleaming optics at the base of the gun waiting for a target.

That target didn’t get to wait long, because the cloud of dust dissipated within seconds, revealing the three quarry eels, two of which were already wounded by gunfire. They attempted to charge at the downed sailors, but didn’t get very far before the cannon opened fire on them.

If the MAG machinegun he had fired was considered deafening, the autocannon above him was something else entirely. The booming noise it made every time it fired sent Roberto reeling despite his ear defenders, the world around him fading away to leave only the sound of the cannon above. His paws flew up to his ears in an attempt to keep out the noise and at one point he found himself screaming in pain. The large spent casings of the cannon landed around him in a rain of hot brass, sometimes shattering floor tiles when they landed.

Unseen by the Italian, the 20mm rounds of the cannon ripped the eels apart. The HPI had loaded high-explosive belts inside the weapon emplacements before the Event, and the result showed by making literal sushi of the red skinned monsters. The alpha eel was hit the hardest, two successive rounds impacting its spine at its base and ripping it in half in a fountain of blood and gore. Its head carried on its momentum, landing just short of reaching Nikola, its yellow eyes now staring lifelessly at the gargoyle. Another of the eels got hit straight in the forehead, the explosive round digging just enough in its skull before the fuse ignited, splattering the hallway in grayish brain matter and skull fragments.

The last of the eels, the one Roberto had nailed in the gut earlier, was less fortunate. It didn’t get hit in the head, the rounds instead impacting it in the flank and tearing large holes in its muscle. It crumpled to the ground, the wounds rendering it unable to move but still very much alive. The wretched monster wailed in pain and struggled futilely to get away from the cannon that had now ceased firing. Soon enough, its wails weakened as its blood quickly poured out of it body before it finally died.

Roberto finally looked up; he was surrounded by spent casings and debris all around, his ears were ringing as if he had just facehugged a subwoofer at a festival for three hours straight and the pain he felt told him he might have sprained his ankle… and maybe his tail too, but they had won.

Smoke from the autocannon filled the room, the smell of burnt gunpowder and fresh blood having replaced the previous earth and decay of the hydroponics. Above him, the gun emplacement receded back behind its protection panels, having done its job of defending the facility.

Next to Roberto, Nikola was laying sprawled on his back with a stupid grin on his muzzle. The gargoyle looked once at the dead eel’s head in front of him before bursting into a fit of hysterical laughter interrupted by hisses of pain, soon joined by Roberto. Both sailors laughed their asses off for a whole minute before regaining their spirits.

“Why are we laughing?” Rob asked after regaining his breath.

“No fucking clue, but it felt good.”

“Guys, I have no idea what joke got you going like that, but if you could try to make your way to the control room when you’ve regained your wits, that would be great.” Nguyen said over the PA system.

“You know, I once heard stories about people walking out of accidents laughing from the adrenaline…” Roberto said.

“Must be that.” Nikola shrugged, biting back a wince. “Shit, I think I sprained a wing. You good Rob?”

“Believe it or not, I think I sprained my tail, and probably my ankle too.”

“Sprained tail? Damn, last time it happened to me was at the red light district in Antwerp. Mind the hole in your ear too.”

“What?” Roberto’s paw flew up to his ear, in which he felt a rip the size of a coin, which was bleeding profusely too. “Damn, there go my good looks.” He commented, immediately wrapping a bandage around his head.

“Dunno pal, maybe the ‘alley cat’ look can suit you.”

“Tell me about it, Scarface.” Roberto joked.

“Hey, I dig the nickname. Loved the movie, it was all the rage when I was a teen.”

Roberto chuckled and went to get up, only to collapse back down after letting out a pained growl.

“Yup, sprained just as I expected.”

“Just lean on me, we will get you a crutch later if we can.” Nikola offered.

With a soft ‘thanks’, the cat accepted the offer and leaned on the smaller gargoyle’s shoulder, mindful of not touching his injured wing.

“Wanna take a trophy?” Nikola suggested, jabbing a thumb in the direction of the dead quarry eels.

“No thanks, let’s just get to the control room and catch some rest while the others finish the job.”

“Now that’s an idea I can get behind.”

“Athena. Give me a status report on the communication array.” Angelo asked.

Following the combat with the eels, the minotaur had shut down the weapon systems and started to go through what data he could find on the facility’s communication equipment. Nikola and Roberto had turned up wounded in the control room, and now Nguyen was tending to their wounds in the situation room. By sheer luck, they had managed to find some first aid kits along the way to avoid using their own already partially depleted medical stock.

A shame they had left the better part of their medical gear back in the mogs.

“Status report: all fours antenna sites are 100% operational and ready to be activated. The central communication server is currently unpowered. Activation is necessary to access the communication system.”

“You may activate all communication systems.”

“Warning: activation of core systems requires authorized user access.”

Angelo groaned in annoyance at the pesky AI before once again typing the override code, forcing it to comply with his request.

“I need to establish satellite contact with the North American facility, how can I do it?” He phrased carefully.

“Once the boot up process of the communications systems is finished, it is possible to link up the central computer to any of the antennas on all four sites. Dialing up other facilities is part of the core system functions and can be accessed from the control menu of the communication systems.”

Simple enough then. After giving the computer enough time to warm up, Angelo just had to hook it up to a satellite antenna of his choosing and voila, he was ready to call the Americans. The programs didn’t even ask him for a code when he activated the information exchange with the other facility.

A mere minute after the exchange began; he got a call on the central station. Agent Eko’s voice rang over the line the moment he picked up the call.

“Congratulations on a job well done Molnàr. May I inquire about how it went?” The Indonesian asked politely. That was a rather abrupt change from how he had addressed him before; the agent must be feeling good about the operation being a success.

“Not too good I must say. The premises got breached by monsters after we entered, I got two members of my team lightly injured, but they should be fine in the long run.”

“Ah yes, monsters. They’ve been the talk of the research department ever since you pointed them to the nuclear experts. I trust they’re taken care of?”

“Got that done before restoring communications. It was some sort of burrowing land eels, very large in size.” He skipped the fact they may have been responsible for drawing them there in the first place. “I’m afraid we’ve found nothing but corpses inside the facility, observations seem to indicate this so-called ‘thaumic’ radiation killed them.”

“Was the shield active? It’s very important to us.”

“That it was.” Angelo frowned. “Even though it was running beyond its normal working parameters it utterly failed at keeping out the radiation. Though it did create a sort of… unsettling feeling among the members of my team.”

“Unsettling you say?”

“Correct, from the moment we entered the premises up until we shut it down, my companions and I were feeling a profound sensation of dread. The feeling is only just starting to dissipate.”

“That’s one thing worth noting indeed. Is that all?”

“Beside the fact that this Athena AI is really annoying, nothing that I can think of. It did mention some alarms when we booted it up, but the presence of the monsters pushed me to ignore them at the time.”

“Our own teams should be able to review those ourselves. Funny thing you’d mention it, Athena I mean. The European branch was very unenthusiastic about implementing advanced builds of it into their mainframe, something about not wanting to trust automated systems to such an extent.” It seemed the agent was relaxing to the idea of working through them, time to try something.

“What is Athena precisely?” Angelo asked.

“As far as I’m allowed to tell you, it’s an AI system meant to assist my organization in managing systems automatically; it lets us reduce manning requirements, though the European branch willingly restricted its ability to interfere with their systems by using an older build.”

“Didn’t sound too advanced, beyond the hologram that is.”

“Different ethics about technology.” Angelo could practically hear the man shrug across the line. “Anyway, thank you again for restoring communications; you have done a great deed for the sake of the planet. Our own agents will take it from there…” Eko trailed off.

“I sense there is something more.”

“Indeed there is. I have a request from our research department. They say they can access research data remotely but they need some of the prototypes that were in the hands of the European branch at the time of the cataclysm…”

“I’m afraid I have to stop you there.” Angelo apologized. “I am under strict orders not to accept any request from your organization without express authorization from Captain Prateek.”

“That can be corrected quickly. May I invite him on the call?”

“By all means…” Angelo said.

It took a whole five minutes before the Captain answered the call. Apparently, he had been having a rather important discussion with Chief Officer Mendoza when they called, though he didn’t say what it was about.

Probably just the modifications they were doing to the ship.

“Greetings Eko. Why are you calling me now? They still need a couple hours before completing the shutdown in Tihange if I remember correctly.” Dilip inquired.

“It’s about the facility in Chooz Captain. Eko has a request to submit to you.” Angelo interjected.

“Can’t say I didn’t expect that. Still, glad to hear you Molnàr, how is the operation in Chooz going?”

Angelo briefly brought his Commanding Officer up to snuff about what had occurred down there. The Captain wasn’t too happy to hear about the two injured crewmembers and warned Angelo they would seriously investigate his decisions once they got back to the ship before they went on with Eko’s request.

“The request came from our research department Captain.” Eko explained. “They want to retrieve the prototypes that had been transferred to the facility before the cataclysm. From what I understand, they didn’t have time to move them to the labs so they should either be in the hangar or the warehouses, still inside a shipping container.”

“Transporting freight is our core business, how much cargo are we talking about and is it dangerous?” Dilip asked.

“All of the prototypes fit into a standard forty-foot container and no, nothing dangerous. It’s only inert cybernetics and drone parts, plus a few batteries –none of which are loaded I assure you-.”

“Then it’s something we can transport. However… I thought you said your organization was unable to leave their bunker?”

“We still are, but predictions have us believe we can downsize our shield system so that it would fit on vehicles within one or two months. Then, we will be able to pick up the gear once you bring it to port.”

“Crossing the Atlantic doesn’t take that much time you know. Are your superiors comfortable with us keeping the prototypes in the meantime?”

“They aren’t, but they don’t have much choice. It will take much more time for us to reestablish a sufficient air fleet or even reach our mothballed fleet, it’s either trust you and have them in one or two months, or don’t and maybe have them in one or two years.” Eko admitted.

“Why Eko, you seem to be getting comfortable talking to us outsiders, revealing all that.” Angelo commented.

“My realization of our need for outside help doesn’t mean we are friends Molnàr, remember that.” Eko snapped. “My organization needs your assistance, regardless of divergent opinions on the matter at the command level. Me revealing you more about us is just a token of our willingness to take care of our allies. That, however, is between me and your Captain only.”

Rude much, but accurate.

“Molnàr, you may retrieve the target container once Eko gives you a description.” Dilip said. “Eko, I do not have time to discuss the terms of this transportation at the moment. Call me again this evening around ten in the evening, Belgian time that is.” The Indian concluded before hanging up.

“Now that it’s just the two of us, care to tell me what kind of container I’m looking for?” Angelo asked.

“Blue container, probably from the CMA-CGM originally, with a new logo painted on. It’s six white circles arranged in a hexagon with another circle in the center.”

Angelo thought about something he had seen on the internet before the Event.

“Isn’t that the flag of Earth?”

“Exactly, and now it represents the HPI and humanity. Good luck, I need to leave now.”

And just with that, Eko hung up on him without even waiting to see if he had a question. Angelo let out an annoyed snort, one step forward and two steps back with that Agent Eko. As long as the Captain is on the line the guy plays relatively nice, and the moment he hangs up the agent just gives his orders and leaves.

Picking up his rifle in one hand, the minotaur slowly made his way to the situation room to tell his companions about the new assignment. Thankfully, it should be much simpler than what they had been doing since they left Amandine.

The sun was setting after a bright day on the port of Antwerp. Of course, it would have been hard to tell with all the lighting that was coming from the flare stacks that dotted the industrial landscape.

That’s the problem with liquefied gas: once you stop the refrigeration process; it gradually starts boiling and then it evaporates. Of course, that was also the case with petroleum products, but to a lesser extent. The flares coming from the oil terminals and the refinery were lit with a much lesser intensity than those on the gas terminals. The flames there must have been a good fifty meters in height, Vadim estimated.

The Ukrainian griffon was keeping watch on top of the monkey island, having already done his rounds for the duration of his watch. There was no need for him to remain on the bridge, he had set all the communication gear to the maximum volume so that he’d hear it if the ship received a message of any kind. Being a scant few meters from the bridge as he was, he was ready to react should anything occur during his watch anyway.

As usual, he was clad in the orange high-vis coveralls that were practically a uniform for the crew. He had modified his own set by sewing on more pockets (to the point of Micha calling it ridiculous) here and there, as well as zippers to let his wings through if he felt like it, which happened to be the case at the moment.

Had he not been busy keeping watch, he might have dozed off: he was lying on his belly, wings extended limply on either side of him catching the soft winds that passed through the port. The sea breeze did a good job of keeping away the fumes of the flares and brought the pleasant smell of the sea with it. The temperature was just right at the moment, with the last rays of the sun warming up his wings nicely. He had actually managed to get them to fold and unfold at his command recently. Sure that wasn’t much, but progress was progress.

The griffon actually caught himself purring. He shook his head in embarrassment and tried to look a bit more serious about his task. Micha was out with a team keeping an eye on the nuclear plant while Schmitt did the shutdown, but that still left Alejandro and the Captain aboard who could accuse him of slacking off on duty.

The rifle lying beside him was enough of a hint they weren’t exactly here for holidays. No monster had been located in Antwerp yet, but they still needed to keep a tight watch. Vadim clicked his beak distractedly and gave one more look around.

Amandine was moored at a container terminal, a mere two kilometers away from the Doel power plant. Its cooling towers were easily visible downstream of them along the river Scheldt. The terminal itself was extremely large, having been built to receive multiple container carriers at a time, each about twice the size of Amandine. Tall as she was, the terminal was meant to receive bigger ships even, and the port’s cranes loomed over her superstructure.

Now that’s an achievement, making a 200m long ship look small.

The container terminal was, as expected, a well secured installation, which had made their efforts of ensuring the place was safe as long as they were moored there relatively easy. They had two sailors on watch at the entry checkpoint with a machinegun keeping an eye on the entrance, with a constant radio contact with him and the guys at the power plant. When they arrived in the morning, some of them wanted to check out the containers but the Captain had put a stop to that quickly. They were there for the power plant first, additional gear could wait.

The city of Antwerp itself was not visible from where they were moored. The port of Antwerp was among the top five biggest ports of Europe, its facilities extended for kilometers on end. They must have been about ten kilometers away from the city. Not even the highest skyscrapers were visible at this distance, hidden behind the twisting landscape of the various terminals, locks and warehouses along the banks of the Scheldt.

Animals had been quick to venture close to the terminals once human activity wound down to nothing. Vadim remembered coming to Antwerp a few times in the past and this was the first time he had seen seals this close to the city. The grey furred mammals were curiously exploring the port, looking for fish now that they were under no risk of being trampled by a barge or a ship. One colony of them was happily resting in the mud of the river bank opposite their terminal.

A flicker of light on the edge of his vision suddenly drew Vadim’s attention. The grey griffon’s head snapped towards a highway going around the port, his raptor sight easily focusing on a convoy he would have had trouble seeing without binoculars in the past.

In some ways the transformation wasn’t all that bad.

The convoy was led by a familiar white UN unimog, though the reflecting light of the sun on the windshield prevented him from identifying the pilot. The mog was followed by a lorry towing a blue forty-foot container on its trailer, and then another mog, this one olive green, ended the convoy.

Angelo was back, and he had found the prototypes the HPI had asked them to retrieve.

“Bridge to Checkpoint, you’ve got an incoming convoy. The boys are back, over.” Vadim spoke in his walkie-talkie.

“Roger that bridge,” The sailor guarding the checkpoint answered, Yuri he was called, a Ukrainian turned into a hippogriff. “We will let them through, thanks for the heads up, out.”

Vadim folded his wings and slid down the ladder back to the bridge, his rifle slung around his back. The griffon padded over to the interphone on the bridge and quickly called the Captain to let him know Angelo was coming. He would have liked to have a lengthy chat with the minotaur himself, but he had been told about the injuries he would have to treat when they arrived.

He sighed, passing a claw through his grey feathers in a tired gesture. Time to play doctor again. He wasn’t too comfortable with the way the rest of the crew had started to consider him as the go-to medical expert; he wasn’t an actual doctor, just an Officer that had gotten somewhat extensive training in medicine.

“Captain’s office, what’s the matter?” Dilip said over the interphone.

“Third Officer Zinoviya on the bridge. I just spotted the convoy coming in, so I will be down in the infirmary prepping it for the injured.”

“Thanks for the info Vadim, let Angelo know I will be waiting for him in my office when you see him, OK?” The Captain told before hanging up.

Putting the interphone back in place, Vadim slowly made his way down to the infirmary. Few crewmembers were on board at the time, what with most of them being busy with the Doel power plant.

There was only one person present inside the infirmary when Vadim reached it… or pony he should say. Bart, the unicorn they had rescued in Zeebrugge was still bedridden and would be for a few days more. The light blue furred equine was watching a movie on a laptop Geert had given him the day before, its hard drive loaded with movies subtitled in Dutch to help the guy learn English when Geert wasn’t available to give him lessons.

The unicorn raised his head upon noticing the grey griffon walk in the room, giving Vadim an inquisitive look.

“I’m not here for you.” Vadim said futilely. The Belgian wouldn’t understand him anyway, not without Geert present to do the translation (and the Dutchman was busy hopping around the power plant on crutches translating the controls for the Chief Engineer).

After watching the griffon pile up medical supplies on a tray, Bart concluded the Officer wasn’t here for him and resumed watching the laptop with a focus that bordered on the unhealthy.

A few minutes later, the door opened and Vadim turned around to face… Angelo’s crotch.

“You know, it gets really annoying being at crotch level with all the bipeds.” Vadim drawled.

“On the bright side you don’t have to kneel to give me a blowjob.” The minotaur joked.

Vadim had to crane his neck back to look Angelo in the eyes; the Greek had a grin on his muzzle.

“If you’re gonna be dumb enough to ask BJ’s from birds of prey don’t come complaining when you get your dick chopped off, debil. You come here to flaunt your Greek sexual depravity or you have some actual patients?”

“Sexual depravity? Why, you homophobic Vadim? Should I tell HR?” Angelo said, tilting his head to the side.

“Just saying, for a creature that’s supposed to be the result of godly levels of bestiality you ain’t exactly raising the bar. As for HR, one of the few good things that came out of this apocalypse is that those worthless desk jockeys are gone.”

“No argument ‘bout that.” The minotaur pointed a thumb back in the direction of the door. “Jokes aside, Rob and Niko are injured, can they come in?”

Vadim leaned back on his haunches and spread out his claws, showing off the supplies he had already prepared.

“What does it look like? You let them in and get out; the Captain’s waiting for you in his office. Now, shoo.” He said, pointing a talon towards the door.

Angelo’s grey furred frame disappeared through the door and in walked Rob and Niko, with the secretary leaning on the battered gargoyle.

“Bozhe moj,what the fuck happened to you guys?” Vadim exclaimed, rushing over to help Roberto to one of the beds.

“Monsters happened that’s what.” Nikola groaned out. “Quarry eels we decided to call them. Very big snake-ish things, they can dig through the ground.”

“Okay, I’m gonna need you to start over from the beginning.” Vadim said, taking off his gloves and applying a large dose of disinfectant to his claws.

“Well, we were going to the plant when there was this quarry…” Roberto explained.

“And now they’re dead?”

“Could have mistaken them for salsa when we left.” Nikola affirmed.

Vadim twisted the needle holder in his talons one last time, putting the finishing touch on the stitches on Roberto’s ear. The cat only felt mild trickle of blood down the side of his head, the ear having been desensitized by a small application of anesthetic.

“Was the stitching really necessary?” Roberto asked. “I’m pretty sure my ear would have been fine with a simple bandage.”

“Not with a rip that size, it would not.” Vadim said. “Plus it gives you some sense of kinship with Scarface over there.” He added, nodding in Nikola’s direction.

The gargoyle’s gash had been properly stitched and bandaged now (covering half the Bulgarian’s muzzle in white fabric). The wound would leave a scar, but nowhere near as bad as it would have been without Vadim’s intervention. Currently, Nikola was resting in one of the beds, holding a cool pad against his cracked ribs.

Almost as an afterthought after the stitching, the Ukrainian griffon applied a bandage around the Italian’s head. The white fabric, bearing some slight orange stains from the isobetadine Vadim used to disinfect the wound, made a stark contrast with the cat’s black fur.

“So did you guys take a trophy?” Vadim asked as he grabbed a splint for Roberto’s ankle.

“No, we only got photos. Didn’t feel like ripping off a fang or something.” Roberto said, brushing a paw over his bandaged ear.

“Shame, would have made a neat trinket. Can I see the pics?”

“Sure.” Nikola fished his phone out of his pocket and handed it to the griffon. “It’s not locked.”

Vadim whistled upon seeing the pictures of the eels. The first one showed the trio roaring at the convoy from the safety of the quarry, and the next one showed their disfigured corpses.

“Hey Bart check this out!” He said, showing the phone to the bedridden unicorn in the room.

The equine’s large eyes bulged out when he saw the pictures. His head flicked back and forth between the two injured sailors in the other beds and the phone.

“You… Kill? Kill, deze?” Bart struggled, pointing his hoof first at the phone then towards Roberto.

The cat gave a soft nod.

“Goed gedaan.” The Belgian said. “Less monsters… is good for… boat?” He said tentatively.

“Ship.” Vadim corrected. “Boat is small, ship is big.” He explained, trying to keep his words simple.

The blue unicorn accepted the explanation with a polite nod before turning his attention back to the laptop in front of him. With the tip of his hoof, he pressed the spacebar and resumed watching his movie.

Splinting Roberto’s ankle was a matter of being crafty, but little changes to splints made for humans were needed to fit the cat’s foot, though he would be more restrained by it than a human would have been.

Things got a bit weirder when Niko and Rob asked him if he could find a splint for their sprained wing and tail respectively. That was something new…

“So I heard about you and Micha…” Nikola said suggestively while the griffon was measuring how to splint his wing.

“Heard what?”

“Well, there’s this rumor that’s been going around the ship how you’ve been… you know…” Nikola said.

“Porking.” Roberto finished.

“I’m sorry what?” Vadim said a bit forcefully.

“It’s the logical conclusion.” Roberto shrugged. “The night before we left he –or maybe should we say she in this instance- was seen leaving your cabin blackout drunk. So… we figured you were both active, so to speak.”

“Dude what the hell, he’s my best friend on this ship, why would I try and fuck him?!” Vadim cried out, insistent on putting emphasis on the ‘him’.

“Eh mind the wing.” Nikola interjected. The Ukrainian had squeezed the sprained limb quite hard when Roberto spoke up.

“Sorry Niko. Regardless, that’s gotta be the dumbest thing I heard today.”

“Not to some on this ship.” Nikola countered.

“Then they’re wrong. Micha and I were talking. He was married before the Event and I was gonna propose to my girl. He’s been female for what? A week? I know some of you guys are thirsty but it’s not the case for all of us, go jack off or something.” He told, carefully folding Nikola’s wing against his back before wrapping a bandage around the guy’s upper torso to keep it in place.

Hopefully the frame he had stuck against the wing kept it from moving too much, though the bandage holding the splint in place would be painful to the gargoyle’s injured ribs. As long as he stuck to light duty, his ribs shouldn’t get any worse.

“In all honesty Vadim? You’re being naïve.” Nikola said. “It’s not like we can get hookers to blow off some steam, and I bet you at least one of the guys-turned-gals feels curious to try it out. It’s gonna happen eventually.”

“And if you guys could avoid projecting your sexual drive onto me, that would be great.”

“We can do that but no promises about the rest of the crew.” Roberto shrugged.

“Whatever, I got a watch to go back to. You’re both on light duty until I decide the contrary, anybody’s got a problem with that, send them to me, got it?” He grabbed two small cardboard boxes from a shelf. “I put these together; you’ve got fresh bandages and voltaren gel in there for the sprains. Some ibuprofen too for the pain, and a week of antibiotics to be taken daily. Try to keep water out of the bandaged stitches and…”

“Yada yada, I know the drill Officer, no need to recite your Bible to me.” Nikola interrupted him. “Any problem or infection, we get back to you, easy.”

“Fine then!” Vadim exclaimed, pulling off his nitrile gloves and throwing them in the bin. He put his ‘walking’ gloves back on before walking out with a huff.

Nikola listened intently to the noise of the Officer leaving, waiting ‘til he reached the stairs before speaking up.

“How long?”

“I’d say… two weeks before they’re an item.” Roberto said.

“Wanna bet? Three Havana’s on the three weeks mark.” Nikola said.

“Make it five and that’s a deal.”

“Sold.”

Dilip dismissed Angelo after a brief review of the minotaur’s ‘expedition’. He had ordered the minotaur to write down a complete after action report for the next day, with reports from his team members included. He didn’t have time to completely go over what had occurred during Angelo’s outing, so that would have to be postponed for later.

Now he had a call waiting, as shown by the clock on his desk nearing ten o’clock.

Right on cue, a request for a video call sprang up on his computer, this one not needing to be patched through from the bridge since he had given Eko the number of his workstation. A quick flick of his mouse later, the Indonesian’s face appeared on the screen.

“Hello again. I heard my team in Doel was putting the finishing touches for the shutdown.” Dilip started.

“So have I Captain. Do you have the prototypes?”

“Loaded and stowed. Now I believe we should discuss the… payment regarding this delivery.”

“My superiors have yet to choose the port of delivery, but it will certainly be on the East coast of the United States. As for the payment, I believe my organization has manufacturing capabilities you don’t have, and we can make the parts to keep your ship going.”

“Now you have my interest.” Dilip said, leaning back in his seat and crossing his arms. “Do go on.”

“Anything you request, we can manufacture, and while you may be able to keep going with parts obtained from warehouses for a while, that would be… inefficient. Provided you are willing to keep upholding contracts for us, we will provide you with the best electronics and mechanical parts technology can achieve.”

The dog stared thoughtfully at the screen in front of him. The Indonesian had managed to put his finger right where it hurt. They did need to find parts for Amandine, and a steady supply was nothing to scoff at…

“Deal.” Dilip said. “I will have a talk with my Chief Engineer to figure out what are the most pressing parts, we will e-mail a list. Think you can get someone to work out a written contract?”

“Yes, but it might take some time to go up the chain of command for approval. Contracts with third parties are…”

“Difficult for a secretive organization like yours, I get it.” Dilip interrupted. “Should it fail, will we get the first batch of parts?”

“That I can guarantee.” Eko reassured him.

“Good. That’s the deal for the prototypes, what about the power plants?”

“For that we have agreed to give you something else. You know about all the satellites that surround the planet?”

“Obviously.” The Captain scoffed.

“First off, you can be certain that communication and geolocation systems will be maintained by our organization so you needn’t worry about GPS or SATCOM stopping working. Maintenance of other services may vary depending on the payload we can use on the satellites, but little trouble is to be expected. What matters for your reward is the login we can give you to access admin parameters on all these networks. We’re also adding military-grade GPS in the package.”

“Alright now you got me impressed. With that we ought to be able to see and locate all traffic on the network, doesn’t that worry you?”

“Of course you won’t be able to use it to locate our assets, we made sure of that. What you can locate on the other hand, are uses of satellite tech all around the world.”

“Other survivors.”Dilip whispered.

“Exactly. I believe this should be more effective than mere radio surveillance. The location algorithm is imbedded in the programming, so no need to worry about that. There is something else you will find useful too: the weather satellites are integrated into the network.”

“Really? Replaces the NavTex I guess.”

“I’m no weatherman Prateek, so you will have to try it out yourself, but it should be effective.”

“That’s great news Eko. I thank your superiors for putting this much trust into us, I will make sure it is not misplaced.” He shuffled in his seat a bit to adjust his tail. “Now, I believe I am owed a history lesson on your organization if I remember correctly?”

“Yes, so here’s how it goes…” Eko began.

“It all began in the sixties, as a byproduct of the Space Race. In 1963 the first manned flights were being sent up in space, and humanity got its first chances at looking out unimpeded towards the center of the galaxy. That’s when they noticed something odd.

I can’t recall which mission encountered it first. Soviet for sure, Vostok I think they called it. Regardless, something happened when the pilot left the atmosphere. He didn’t die, but it sure came close when he was exposed to something that wasn’t the expected cosmic rays. The Soviets were pretty hush-hush about it and didn’t say much about it, but they started to fit sensors to their satellites to look into it.

It’s the Yanks that reached out to the Soviets about it when another similar incident happened during a flight for Project Mercury. Another pilot injured, Gus Grissom, he died shortly after returning to Earth. Same radiation, but this time the exposure was greater and Grissom came back as a drooling vegetable. A shame, the guy would have made a great astronaut from what his story led to believe, but that’s more of a personal opinion. As far as the public was concerned, the guy was dead before landing from cosmic rays.

Since the NASA couldn’t figure it out on their own and neither could the Soviets; President LBJ reached out to the Kremlin and had a talk with General Secretary Brezhnev. Both reached a somewhat tense agreement on pooling funds to figure out what this radiation was exactly by setting up a joint research venture. The sheer amount of red tape surrounding the projects was immense, since both parties wanted to keep it hidden lest they admit they couldn’t do science on their own. That’s the first apparition of the HPI, though it wasn’t called that at the time. Project Black Sun, joint American-Soviet venture, they even got a research complex near the Bering Strait. Both countries increased their defense spending the moment they signed off on the project and quietly channeled funds towards the project.

For years, Black Sun laid out detection equipment around the planet and snuck it on board of high flying planes. They had access to NASA and the Soviet Space Program to obtain data and steer their research the way they wanted. They even snuck equipment on the launchers as they saw fit. In that time period, Black Sun reached two conclusions.

One, the ‘thaumic’ radiation as they coined the term in ’69, only affects humans. Dogs, cats, frogs, you name it; they don’t have to worry about it. But that’s something you’re probably already aware of.

Second, they found where the radiation was coming from. The galactic core was producing it. Our understanding of the radiation was mediocre at best at the time, so it forced Black Sun to go further than before, and for that they would need more resources. That was decided in’72.

Enters the UN Security Council. It was time for Black Sun to open up to the rest of the world and recruit from an even wider pool of experts and scientists, embracing even more of the global community. A secret resolution was passed to implicate all countries in the affair, but it still had to remain secret because something very alarming had been discovered by the head scientist when he discovered the source.

I don’t know if you’re aware of that; but in astronomy you’re technically looking into the past. That’s the thing with light travelling at a certain speed. Another thing is, astronomers can make observations of an object and estimate when it’s about to go supernova or what ‘sit. That’s precisely what they did with the core when they observed the frequency at which it was emitting the radiation.

Calculations were inaccurate, thanks in no small part to the technology available at the time. Still, with the scale at which astronomers work, they reached the conclusion that we were dangerously close to a burst of said radiation that would reach biblical proportions. As in, compare a solar flare to the Sun exploding. Humanity was in danger, though we didn’t know if we had two or two hundred years to find a solution.

By ’75, Project Black Sun was officially under the administration of the United Nations. Additional funding and scientist streamed in, and the project was renamed HPI. Our focus was now to better calculate the time we had and research a solution. Any kind of protection against the end of Mankind. Most of our efforts were centered on how Earth’s magnetic field managed to keep out the minimal thaumic radiation that had injured astronauts in the past.

Things we going well until the fall of the Soviet Union and the end of the Cold War. Without the huge defense spending that could hide a trickle of money and resources going our way, progress slowed down despite our best attempts at finding funding using less… respectable methods. Our hopes went from saving the entire planet by 2030, to maybe a country, then to a few hidden facilities. Priorities changed, without the Security Council really being aware of it. And how could we tell them? That as far as we were concerned humanity was doomed in the near future? That wouldn’t fly with them.

Granted, we still had access to unparalleled tech, but we were way ahead of ourselves in this endeavor. Many prototypes of shielding tech were conceived, but we were limited in the scope of their use. We were trying to do what Earth’s magnetic core was doing, only without a gigantic mass of molten metal and a hundred thousand times stronger. No small task, many of our scientists burned themselves out to get just one step further.

And while the scientists were busy, other branches in our organization came to life despite the limited resources. To prepare us for the worst: having to recreate humanity from scratch, preserve our way of life, the whole nine yards. That’s how facilities like the one in Chooz were created, and since we were not sure of how effective the shielding would be, a few more of those were created, countering the limitations on how many different shields we could fit in one place.

And then… Well it gets less interesting. It was a matter of keeping the facilities ready for the big day while continuously improving the shields. Make sure the facilities are always crewed and the shields on, plan for what’s going to happen after, get as much tech as possible.

And that brings us to now.” Eko concluded.

“That’s a lot to digest at once…” Dilip muttered. “Did you expect the monster part? And what happened with my ship?”

“That I’m afraid, is something we’re trying to piece together as hard as you are. Unfortunately, our hands are tied until we can adapt our tech to get out. It’s on you until then Captain.”

“Climb a hill… only to discover the mountain it was hiding.” He whispered. “How ready were you?”

“Not at all. Estimations were off by a whole three years. Lots of our outside agents were lost in the cataclysm.” Eko sighed. “Frankly finding you and sorting out the nuclear affair is the best news we’ve had in a while.” He admitted, for once dropping his façade.

“There is hope yet. I may have lost the appearance of one, but I’m still human and we will make it through this crisis Eko. Whatever your scientists need from outside to figure out a solution, you can count on Amandine to get it. Mutual support is the only way we will make it through, you can tell your superiors that.” The Captain said firmly.

“Believe me I will. Goodbye Captain.” The HPI agent said before pressing a button on his keyboard.

The screen went black and Dilip finally allowed his shoulders to sag. After letting out a long sigh, he opened the folder on his computer that contained his research on the change and monsters.

He could already picture himself pulling another all-nighter.

Author's Note

And that concludes the first large arc of this story. Plot wise things should calm down for a bit now before they move on to another port.

Eko's story at the end is yet another highlight of how I choose to stray from the usual PaP canon, and this brings about the first hint of the seafarer/HPI alliance that was mentioned in the prologue.

Length wise I only have myself to blame. When I started off I thought I would be done with this arc around the 50k words mark, but now I overshot 100k words and the word documents total 200 pages. I really have issues writing compact stories it seems...

Chapter 16: Making Plans

The morning that followed Angelo’s return to Amandine saw most of the crew gathered in the cafeteria around the Captain just after breakfast. They were only missing the two sailors guarding the checkpoint at the entrance of the terminal, and Bart who was still in the infirmary (if the unicorn was to be counted as part of the crew that is).

Dilip checked one last time that his presentation was ready on the laptop he had plugged to the room’s ceiling projector before turning his gaze to the crowd sitting around the room.

“Good morning to you all, I hope the breakfast this morning was good, all thanks to the return of Nguyen to the kitchen.” Dilip started, addressing a polite smile in the direction of the counters from which both the cooks were observing the presentation.

“But there are matters that need to be attended now. First off, let’s not ignore the elephant in the room. I must congratulate all members of this crew for a job well done with those power plants, in particular the engineering department for their excellent work with the shutdown.”

A few polite claps resounded around the room before the Captain resumed his speech.

“A detailed analysis of what happened will have to wait some more, but certain conclusions can already be drawn before the complete reports come in. Nothing to worry about for the ratings, the department heads will communicate the detailed conclusions to you once it’s done. Now for the obvious stuff…” He trailed off pressing a key on the laptop in front of him.

A PowerPoint appeared on the white screen on the wall of the cafeteria showing Dilip’s presentation. It started off immediately with pictures of the monsters they had encountered and a casualty count. In bold letters, the Captain had highlighted ‘9 days’ and ‘5 casualties’.

“Our biggest problem as of now is that we are getting injured way too frequently. I won’t delve into Farkas’ case since that was just a fall. On the other hand, encounters with monsters have systematically resulted in injuries. The electric mites Nguyen faced may not have hurt him much in the long run, but he was still hit and can only thank his PPE for not getting fried. It’s been barely more than a week since the Event happened, we can’t keep it up at this rate or everyone will be agonizing in the infirmary within a month. We can thank the skies for Zinoviya’s medical competence but that can only get us so far. Solutions need to be taken in order to counter that, which I already have discussed with the department heads.”

Another press on the keyboard made a new slide appear on the screen.

“First off, on the prevention side. We need to improve weapon training to a point that you all will be able to engage most threats without injuries on our side. Artyom has been designated responsible for this training.” Dilip said, waving a paw in the boatswain’s direction. The Russian dragon acknowledged the Captain with a curt nod.

“Before we leave this city, I want every uninjured sailor to have undergone at least six hours of active handling training, shooting with live rounds and one live fire exercise to get used to moving in a combat situation. I do realize we are just merchants, not the navy, but we need to train better in order to avoid further injuries down the line. I hope the pacifists among you understand.” He paused to take a breath.

“Next up is first aid training. I have reviewed most of your training files and a great many of you have fallen behind on medical capabilities, officers included.” Dilip said, directing a pointed stare towards the table where his Deck Officers were seated.

“That one includes the guys on light duty. Before we leave, all of you will undergo two hours of theory and one hour of practical training on first aid courtesy of our Third Officer. Planning is up to you Vadim, but there is one more thing: in order to alleviate pressure on our resident ‘doctor’, I need one volunteer to undertake extensive medical training to support Vadim as a… nurse, so to speak. I don’t care if the volunteer is an officer or a rating as long as the place is filled, but I need a name by tomorrow or I will designate someone myself, understood?”

There was a murmur of assent among the crowd before Dilip continued his speech, taking note of who showed interest in the position.

“That’s it for the conclusions so far. I will add that any group that leaves the safety of the terminal for a venture of any sort must have at least three members, communication equipment, a machinegun in addition to the rifles and a vehicle. Now…” He said, going to the next slide on the presentation. “I will pass the reigns to the Chief Officer who will explain what shall be done while we’re in Antwerp.”

Alejandro stood up and marched forward to Dilip’s side. The hyacinth macaw had managed to get enough free time to complete the ‘foot-gloves’ idea that Geert had come up with earlier that week, so now he finally had something to wear on his feet. The Kevlar and leather gloves wrapped nicely around his clawed feet; creating a fair balance between protection and freedom of movement.

“Thank you Captain. I will begin with the high priority stuff to get it out of the way. Our fuel reserves are still in the green but we need to top off the tanks whenever we can. That one is mostly for the engineering department but us deck guys will have to help too with a fuel barge. Port reports indicate they can be found on the opposite bank of the river in the refineries. Filling up on heavy fuel oil will only take one trip and the diesel is a daily task but…” The parrot turned in Schmitt’s direction. “Think we can fill up the diesel via trucks? Five tons a day seems feasible and it’s less work than moving a whole barge for that little fuel.”

“Diesel is possible, but not the heavy fuel, for that you’ll still need a barge.” The orange dragon said.

“Will do. Now beside the usual task of looking around the terminal for useful things –of which you can find a list of requested items on the ship’s server-, there are two more tasks that need to be done. Highest priority goes to adapting the ship’s breathing apparatus and gas masks for use on muzzles. We got some equipment to modify them from Zeebrugge and I think someone’s already started it in the engineering department if I’m not mistaken?”

A female hippogriff stood up in the back of the room, Aleksei, the Third Engineer. The Latvian had light green fur and wing feathers, with a white crest and tail feathers. He was wearing an oil stained set of coveralls and had gloves on his claws for the sake of hygiene, not unlike Vadim’s.

“I’ve gotten started on making prototypes for the masks but I need to fine tune my models so it can fit anyone before I make the molds. I need a dog and a cat to come by and try the models before I decide which fits best. I won’t need much help until I start making the molds.”

“Good, then that leaves two things. One, for those who have yet to do that, go to the infirmary to get your blood sampled. Two, we need some ideas for a new light vehicle smaller than a truck. Ideas can be submitted to your superiors. I believe that’s all?” The parrot said, turning to the Captain.

“Besides finishing building the workshop that’s it, you’re all dismissed.” The dog nodded. “Get going, there’s a lot of things we have to do.”

Nothing else of particular interest happened that day. The tasks they were given kept the crew busy, and those that didn’t participate in them were either busy with their own projects or resting.

In his cabin later in the afternoon, Dilip scratched his ear as he observed the various CCTV recordings the crew had managed to retrieve whenever possible. He was interested by the moment at which the Event occurred in particular.

So far, he didn’t have much material to go by but there was one thing he was certain of: the Event had progressed like a wave. It was difficult to see on the recordings but there was a very fast wave that swept every area and removed humans and… active vehicles apparently, wherever it passed through from what he had seen.

Videos taken from the harbor terminal had shown several forklifts that had been in the process of moving around containers suddenly disappearing when the wave swept the area. That had led him to the conclusion that an occupied vehicle would disappear, just like any human bar those protected by one of the HPI’s thaumic shields. This would explain how the anchorage of West Hinder had become so deserted all of a sudden.

Now the Indian dog was trying to figure out where the wave came from. Time stamps on the recordings allowed him to draw certain conclusions and estimate the origin of the wave but…

Dilip pulled out a map of Europe from a cabinet and set it down on the table. Glancing back and forth between the screen showing the recordings and the map, he carefully jotted down each position and time at which the wave was detected. That was only three locations so far they had managed to acquire but…

The anchoring in West Hinder came first, it being the earliest to have been hit. Dilip added an arrow pointing in the general direction the wave had seemed to come from.

Repeating the process with Zeebrugge and Antwerp gave him a more accurate estimation of the origin but these three locations were still too close to triangulate the origin, much less considering the bearings he was following were estimations themselves. Cameras don’t come with integrated compasses as far as he knew.

They would need more recordings to find out the origin of the wave… and from what Eko had told him the day before; they were pretty much on their own trying to figure that out.

A knock on his door interrupted Dilip’s reflection.

“It’s open.” The dog said, tearing his eyes away from his desk.

In came Angelo. The minotaur was holding a sheaf of paper in his hand which he immediately presented to the Captain.

“The After Action Reports sir, all members of the team included.”

“Thank you Molnàr. By any chance, have you reached any early conclusion yet?”

“Yes Captain.” The minotaur nodded. “The team and I had a talk about it at lunch; I added what we concluded at the end of the document. If you want I can also send you the digital version…” Angelo offered.

“No need for that. How are the injured?”

“Getting better. Nikola can’t do much in engineering with his ribs so I got him monitoring the diesel generators and Roberto’s alright managing the server. Just had to find him some crutches to get him hobbling around just fine.”

“And Nguyen? I heard he didn’t go to the infirmary for his electric shock.”

“Beyond some mild tingling he doesn’t report anything so I didn’t bother him with it. I’m honestly more worried about his reaction to what we saw in the facility.”

“And why is that?” Dilip inquired.

“He wasn’t too enthusiastic about entering the facility in the first place; and then… Roberto and Nikola were shaken granted, Roberto even threw up, but they pushed on fine. Nguyen on the other hand; he mostly stood at the back on the brink of outright panic the whole time. I swear if we didn’t have guns with us he would have been running for the hills the moment I opened the facility’s door.” Angelo explained.

“I can’t say I’m an expert on psychology Angelo but if you could keep an eye on him. The situation is pretty hard for all of us and I don’t know how much worse that kind of exposure to death and violence could make things. Try to make sure he doesn’t isolate himself, but don’t be intrusive. If he doesn’t feel like speaking up about it don’t press okay?”

“Will do sir. Anything else?” The minotaur asked, his bulky arms crossed behind his back.

“Negative. You may go, how is the workshop coming along?”

“Still two or three days of work to finish the bulk of it give or take, then we can move on to the firefighting installations.”

“Excellent. Have a nice day.”

The moment the minotaur’s frame passed the door, the Captain pulled out a sheet of paper and wrote down a note about the Vietnamese cook before shoving it in his dossier.

The following day saw hardly more activity for Amandine’s crew. Practically nobody bothered to leave the ship save for the team that guarded the checkpoint and the one group charged with getting them diesel for the generators that had also stopped to explore the container stacks for a bit before coming back empty handed. Not because they didn’t find anything, quite the contrary, but because they didn’t find anything worth loading on the ship. The atmosphere on board was rather dull for all after the chaos that had followed their arrival in Zeebrugge.

The only thing they had to look forward to beyond working on building the workshop was the impending training in first-aid and weapon handling.

Vadim walked down the hallway to get to the gym after a long day spent redacting PowerPoint’s for his first-aid lessons and helping Artyom prepare the live-fire training. He hadn’t gotten many chances to do some sport since the Event and frankly at the moment he needed something to relax that didn’t involve alcohol or tobacco.

The gym was situated on the same deck as the ratings’ rooms and the cafeteria, it being the largest deck of the accommodation on Amandine. As he passed their rooms, Vadim noted that the Filipinos had managed to find a Playstation 4 on which they were hosting a Fifa tournament with the Ukrainians. With most of them having turned into clawed species they could still reliably play video games… though the lack of one digit made for some poor performances if what he spied through the open door was any indication. He silently wished the Ukrainian player using the Dynamo Kiev success before walking away without being noticed.

The Third Officer continued on his way through the hallway before making a sharp turn after the garbage room into the gym.

Roomy as it was, the gym was nothing impressive. When they were building the ship, the yard had wound up with one useless room they couldn’t turn into a cabin because of its proximity to the funnel and all the piping that passed through, thus they had decided to make it the barebones gym it now was.

The room was illuminated by two rows of white neon lights and had its floor covered in blue weight mats. One wall had had its cover panels removed to access the piping that went through the room, which the guys from engineering had yet to put back in place.

On one side of the room were some racks of weights and benches for power training, and on the other were a fitness bike and a treadmill for cardio. Not much, but enough considering they usually were too busy to even think about using the gym. There was only one window, currently left open to vent the heat that tended to build up in the room as well as the unpleasant stench of sweat that was practically impregnated in the walls by now.

Hispanic music resonated around the room, coming from a small Bluetooth loudspeaker set on one of the benches on the side courtesy of the single blue parrot who was having an energetic workout when Vadim walked in.

Alejandro was too entirely focused on the punching bag hanging from the ceiling in front of him to notice the grey griffon by the door. The Spaniard was delivering a flurry of punches and kicks to the bag in front of him, quickly switching sides and hopping this way and that as if the bag was fighting back. Vadim didn’t miss the frown that marked the Chief Officer’s feathered face whenever he went for a kick on the bag or how the blue crest on top of his head was extended like his tail feathers.

Just as the music on the radio wound down, Alejandro relented his assault on the bag and dropped his arms before letting out a long sigh, eyes closed.

“Something bothering you Alej’?” Vadim asked.

“Just getting used to the changes is all.” The Chief Officer answered, grabbing a bottle of water on the bench by the speaker.

“Really looked like something was getting on your nerves right there.”

“I do. I practice martial arts in my free time. I even got a black belt in BJJ. Shame I don’t have a partner to train with. It’s really annoying having to relearn your limits because of this change.”

“Can’t be that bad. I mean, look at us all, we seem to be doing fine.”

“Fine ain’t enough. When you spend hundreds of hours training to the point where you know your body to perfection, it takes time to get back to that level. I’m still getting used to some of the finer details, and that’s probably just the tip of the iceberg.”

“What kind of details exactly? Because pardon me if I consider myself to be worse off than you are.” Vadim said waving a claw over his own quadruped body.

“Small things that are actually rather important in martial arts. Reach for one, and speed too. I’m shorter than before but the change brought on some kind of speed boost so I have to relearn how to pace myself and manage my hits. Lost quite a bit in raw strength too. What are you doing here anyway? Don’t you need to work on your first-aid lessons?”

“They’re as ready as they will ever get so I think I deserve some leisure time for myself.”

Vadim then proceeded to take off his shoes and gloves before making his way over to the treadmill. He shrugged off the front half of his coveralls, tying it around his midsection before propping himself up against the handrail to select a mode on the control menu.

“Plus I believe if I can get enough time running on the treadmill I can finally get used to that quadruped shtick.” He added.

“Not used to that either are you?” Alejandro asked with a smile.

“As you said, fine ain’t enough. If I could get enough motor control on my own body to outdo a five-year old that would be great.” Vadim said before hitting the ‘start’ button. “I catch myself fumbling with which leg to put down whenever I think about it too hard. Lemme tell you, falling over like that gets old real quick.”

The treadmill began rolling at a mild pace, pushing the griffon to let go of the railing and start running. Vadim had to concentrate for a minute before he got the hang of it. Front left, rear right then front right, rear left. Easy… He eyed the speed display, only to groan in dismay upon seeing he was barely doing six kilometers per hour despite already having difficulties keeping up.

Alejandro had turned away from Vadim and started up another song of the radio before resuming his training with the punching bag, rhythmically throwing jabs to the beat of the music.

“Say Vadim, you look quite… stiff when you run.” Alejandro threw after taking a quick look at the griffon.

Vadim stumbled and caught himself just before falling, then reduced the pace on the treadmill by a small margin.

“What do you mean?” He asked after catching his footing.

“Your legs and uh… arms I guess are the only things moving. I’m no expert but I’m pretty sure your tail is there for balance, and you’re not compensating with your back either. That and you won’t get anywhere by alternating sides I’m afraid.”

Vadim quirked an eyebrow at the Spaniard.

“For someone who’s not stuck on four-leg drive you seem to know a lot about running on all four.”

“Eh what can I say?” Alejandro momentarily interrupted his assault on the punching bag to give a shrug. “Plenty of my exes had cats, and don’t get me started on my abuela. Never liked the furballs much but at least I got my sense of observation right.”

“Ever the Don Juan aren’t ya, Alej’?” Vadim chuckled, adjusting his running and finally relinquishing control of his tail which started to move in tandem with his legs. “Can’t keep yourself dedicated to one lady?”

“I’d never dear colleague. The ladies like the Mendoza touch way too much, I would never be so selfish as to keep them all from appreciating my skills.” The blue parrot chuckled. “Contrarily to you I don’t need a woman waiting for me when I go back ashore.”

“Well I for one don’t contribute to the ill reputation of the entire profession by impregnating a woman in every port!” Vadim countered.

“Please, that was just one port and I haven’t set foot in Ceuta ever since. I learn my lessons.”

“More like you can’t afford much more in the way of child support.”

“Nope, I got my ass covered with lawyers. Bitch never got to nail me with the payments, not like she could have afforded to fight it in court, so that’s a win for me.”

“That’s low.” Vadim said, hitting the button to speed up the treadmill.

“I’d rather go low than lose over thirty grand because of a drunken one night stand. Anyway, how’s Micha?”

The griffon stumbled before throwing a glare at the laughing Spaniard.

“The hell? You’re in on it too now?” He growled.

“I wasn’t speaking about romance but your reaction tells it all.” Alejandro laughed.

“No it fucking doesn’t!” Vadim said, glaring at the wall in front of the treadmill. “You guys really should get your mind out of the gutter sometime.”

“Chill, I’m just enjoying watching you squirm. No way I’d play matchmaker with colleagues, that’s just asking for trouble. Can’t say the same for the rest of the crew however.”

“I noticed.” Vadim drawled. “Niko and Rob were all about it the other day in the infirmary.”

“They and others too.” Alejandro said. “If I may offer my own point of view on the matter?”

“Shoot.”

“Ignore it and they will let it go after a while. I’d suggest avoiding Micha in the meantime but…”

“As if that was even possible!”

“Yeah, that. But I hope I don’t need to tell you how bad an idea it’d be to flirt with another officer. Fraternization may not be a thing in the merchant navy but…”

“’cause we all know you want Geert for yourself.” Vadim fired back.

“W-what?!” Alejandro stuttered, missing a strike against the punching bag and falling over. “The hell did you get that from?”

“Caught you stuttering. Didn’t know you had a thing for scarlet macaws, but I guess the colors are pleasant to look at.” Vadim said with a twinkle in his eyes.

The hyacinth macaw gaped at the griffon for a whole ten seconds before he shook his head with a smile on his beak. His feather crest rose up slightly as he smiled.

“Fair enough I deserved that one. You’re not going to speed it up a bit?”

“Baby steps chief, baby steps. I ain’t gonna start sprinting ‘til I got the tail motion down at least.” Vadim said.

The griffon preferred to keep going with his particular style of running before he even tried to sprint like a cheetah or something. Managing all the extra limbs was already hard enough as is, and it wasn’t helped by the fact he didn’t really have proper sport clothing that allowed the right range of movement (at least that was the excuse he came up with).

Alejandro just dropped the subject and left Vadim to his own training, not having anything else to add to the conversation.

Later that day after dinner, a bald eagle female griffon was seen making her way down to the engine room with a laptop awkwardly held in one claw. Micha slowly hopped down the last set of steep stairs to the engine room, mindful of the computer in his claws.

There wasn’t much activity inside the control room: the office was empty and the only light came from the lower part of the control room where a light green furred hippogriff was fiddling with one of the control stations, Aleksei. The Latvian was pretty much in the same boat as Micha when it came to the change since both of them used to be male before the Event.

Despite not having had a lot of interaction with the guy prior to the Event, Micha found himself developing a sort of friendship with Aleksei once they got to talk about how they felt regarding the changes they had undergone.

Micha let out a polite cough to let the hippogriff know he was there.

“Ah.” Aleksei said in slightly accented English. “Didn’t see you there, anything I can do for you?”

“Maybe.” Micha said, plopping down in a seat beside him. “Remember the radio recorder on the bridge?” He asked, setting down his laptop on the console in front of him.

“I think I do. It’s hooked to the voyage data recorder right?”

“Yep. Little bit of a problem with it tho’: we can’t read the files it records and I’m trying to figure out how to convert the files. I heard you were skilled in coding?”

Aleksei shook his head and gave Micha an uneasy smile.

“Skilled is a generous term for what I can do. Can’t you really code it yourself?”

“Tried everything I could and the usual sites I would refer to are down. You’re all I have before calling it quits.” Micha admitted after running his claw through his feathers.

Aleksei leaned back in his seat, giving the screens of the laptop and the console in front of him a critical glance. He scrolled down for a bit on the laptop’s screen before crossing his arms with a huff.

“Think you can help me?” Micha asked in a tentative voice.

“I might have an idea.” The Latvian frowned. “But hold on.” He said, raising his claw when he saw the griffon’s brightening features. “This is gonna be a two-way street.”

“Anything I can do to help.”

Aleksei tapped the console with a claw.

“So here’s the thing. You remember how we changed the pumps recently? As in, all of them?”

“Vaguely. We got them delivered last time we went to Rotterdam I think? What’s wrong with them?”

“The pumps are fine, that’s the controls that are bugging us. We have yet to set up the bloody things correctly for remote control from here so they can manage themselves without our input.”

He brought up a tab on the console showing the diesel generator system, before pointing a claw at some symbols on the screen.

“See this here? That’s all the feed pumps in the system. Because the throttle controls are not inputted in the command computer yet, we have to keep someone down here at all times to manage it otherwise the generator will starve itself out of fuel, or worse. Now what I was doing was programming all that data from the pumps’ information sheets into the computer so we get rid of the problem. But I just don’t have time, what with the gas masks I need to finish.”

“Can’t Angelo or Schmitt help?”

“Both busy with the workshop and all. Schmitt is touching up the schematics and Angelo is harassing the welders up top.” He shrugged. “The programming takes low priority, but getting that done should free us some manpower. At least when we’re in port. Plus there’s the deal that I’m stuck with the task ‘cause I kinda bragged about my programming skills so they said I could manage it on my own.”

“Alright fine. I’ll do that for you if you help me with the radio recordings.” He held up one claw towards the hippogriffs. “Deal?”

Aleksei grabbed the proffered claw in his own and gave him a firm handshake.

“Deal. Now hand over the laptop and let’s take a look at it in detail to see what can be done for now, ‘kay?”

For the better part of two hours, the two gender bent sailors looked in detail at what Micha had already done with the conversion process of the files, Aleksei giving the griffon some tips here and there on how to proceed. The process itself wasn’t really complicated, but the fact they couldn’t acquire the code from the internet to shorten their work made for some rather lengthy process which forced them to retool another file converter for the specific task they wanted to do. Aleksei eventually decided to call it quits when the clock hit midnight.

The white hippogriff downed the cup of coffee he had set down on the console before turning to the griffon at his side.

“That should do it for today.” Aleksei concluded. “Not that I think we can’t go further but I’d rather avoid pulling an all-nighter if I can help it.”

“Fine by me.” Micha nodded, standing up.

“You know there’s that funny thing…” Aleksei added in passing.

“Uh?”

“I was just thinking about your name. With the way it’s spelled it can be any gender you want depending on whether you pronounce it with a ‘ch’ or a hard ‘c’. Just an idle thought.”

Micha raised an eyebrow at that.

“As innocent as that thought may be; I’d rather you keep calling me with the male version of my name. I do not intend to resign myself to being stuck as a gal for the rest of my life, thank you very much.”

“I’m not saying that, just pointing out the coincidence.” Aleksei said, raising his claws in defense. “I want my dick back too. Hell, I could even settle for being a hippogriff as long as I’m male again, but I don’t really see any solution lying around.”

“And we’ve got monsters, dragons, telekinesis-using sphinxes, time travel and more. I’m convinced I can find a solution, even if that’s not going to be easy. It never is, doesn’t mean I’m gonna give up.”

“If you say so, pal.” The hippogriff shrugged. “See you tomorrow?”

“Yeah, see ya.” Micha said, walking away with his laptop under his arm.

While the two officers were discussing coding in the engine room, other discussions were taking place in the cafeteria. At such an hour, the lights had been dimmed down; making it so that most of the lighting in the room was coming from the kitchen after the curtains had been drawn. The smell of baking bread floated in the room, courtesy of Nguyen who was making a fresh batch for next day’s breakfast.

Two creatures were seated at a table in the dark, sharing beers over some idle talking. One was a blue dragon, Artyom, the ship’s boatswain; while the other was a ginger furred gargoyle with a black mane going by the name of Nikola.

The gargoyle still had part of his face covered in bandages thanks to the wound he had received two days earlier in the HPI facility, but the injury was in no way hampering his ability to drink from several bottles of beer in quick succession.

The meeting was nothing out of the ordinary for the two sailors. With both of them being former military and significantly older than most of the crew, they had quickly found a sense of kinship that was only rivaled by their own friendship with Sri, the Indonesian hippogriff that was also in the age range and former military as well. After hours meeting had long ago become the norm for them before the Event threw them in for a loop… and increased their daily alcohol intake as a coping mechanism. The only bad thing was that Sri had seemed more distant recently due to his enforced sex change.

Nikola set down his fourth beer of the evening with a clatter.

“Man I tell you, these Belgian beers, they may not be the best but they sure come close.” He said.

“If anything you pretty much earned your alcohol ration for the rest of the month with what happened in Chooz.” Artyom commented, setting down his own bottle.

“Meh, honestly that also revealed I’m way rustier than I thought I was with guns. What I did against the eels was pretty sloppy I must confess. Got me fumbling with my mags and all. Don’t let it know to others but I might need the training just as bad as they do. How is the planning going?”

“I found a place that ought to do the trick for a firing range within the boundaries of the terminal. All these dikes they built around the place to protect it from floods make for a good impact berm, and then we can use the forklifts of the terminal to move containers around and create a firing box. I even found plenty of plywood in a shed this morning, so I got plans to train them how to properly shoot on the move.”

Nikola raised his eyebrows.

“Lots of planning you got there.”

“What can I say? I’m just that good.” The dragon joked. “I’m sorry I didn’t ask ‘cause I assumed you were fine with it but in my planning I wrote you and Sri down as shooting instructors to help me.”

“Can’t say I’m entirely comfortable doing that… yet. Live firing and dry runs like we’ve already done are different things, plus there is the whole light duty deal. I can give it a try but I don’t think my ribs will agree.” He gave a gentle tap on his ribcage, barely concealing a wince. “You want to start tomorrow?”

Artyom took another sip of his beer before nodding.

“At least that was the plan. I got a detailed plan of the training program in my office I drafted this afternoon.” The dragon paused. “You know what? I got an idea. What if I did the program once with only you and Sri so you shave off some of that rust, and then we do it with the rest of the crew, sounds better to ya? You even get to test it out and see if you can manage with your injuries.”

“Much better. Where is Sri anyway? We need him to train the quadrupeds.”

“Guard duty at the checkpoint. He switches out at four in the morning so we won’t see him ‘til tomorrow I’m afraid.”

Nikola shook his head dejectedly.

“Shame, I really wanted to share a beer with him tonight. Think he will agree ‘bout being a shooting instructor?”

“Can’t picture him refusing. Though he’s been worrying me recently…” Artyom said.

“I don’t know what’s worrying you. If anything, seeing him smoke so many cigarettes a day to keep his voice somewhat masculine sounding is rather funny.”

“Not the most sympathetic guy, are you?”

“Nah, I understand his reaction.” Nikola waved him off. “Doesn’t mean I can’t make light of it. God knows if I was always about doom and gloom I wouldn’t have made it past thirty. Sri will make it; you just gotta give him some space to get around his situation. Funny thing though.”

“What?” Artyom tilted his head.

“With all that transformation thing, you would think the crew wouldn’t get so fixated on something as trivial as losing a dick when they sprouted wings and claws and all… Really shows you what matters to people, uh?”

The dragon snorted out a small puff of smoke in annoyance.

“Yeah, ain’t completely false. Say… speaking of dicks. I know this may come across as strange, but have you been feeling… energized lately?” Artyom asked.

Nikola quirked an eyebrow at the dragon.

“Energized you say?” He said with an amused smile on his muzzle. “Dragon dick got you your libido back?”

“Among other things, but yes, I haven’t felt this lively in years. It’s like the change removed all the kinks I had acquired over the years. I haven’t had a single problem with my bad knee since the cataclysm. What about you?”

The gargoyle took the time to down his beer before answering.

“I’d say it’s about the same for me. I may not have been as banged up by time as you were but I do feel rather good since I underwent the change. Libido wise… well…” He hesitated.

“Come one just spit it out, I won’t judge.”

“I’ve jacked off at least twice a day since the cataclysm, and not out of boredom. Before that I hardly felt the need to do it more than once a week; yet now…” Nikola blushed. “Feels like I’m a teenager again to be honest.”

“Worse off than me then, but not by a large margin I assure you.” The dragon let out another puff of smoke. “Frankly at this point it just feels annoying. Though I’m honestly impressed by the ‘collection’ our younger colleagues have amassed on the ship’s server.” He chuckled.

“You and me both pal. I couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw the size of the folder, these fuckers even categorized the bloody thing.” He laughed. “Bloody ship is running a miniature Pornhub.”

“Damn right it is.” Nikola said with a shake of his head. “Want another?” He asked, pointing a thumb back towards the beer fridge.

“Hell yeah. Next one’s on my tab.”

“Who gives a shit ‘bout tabs anymore? We ain’t getting paid.”

“Make that two then!”

Author's Note

The story is now entering a quieter phase with less action before I start the next arc. Expect smaller chapters with more slice of life than action as long as they're in Antwerp.

I still have to finish drafting the passage planning for their next port of call, but all waypoints are already set so that shouldn't take too much time.

Chapter 17: Training and Paperwork

Dilip’s sleep was interrupted by the blaring sound of his alarm clock singing its morning tune. With a groan, the Indian dog slammed a paw on the loud plastic box before hauling himself out of bed.

‘4th of June, 06:30’ read the digital screen of his clock. The usual hour when he was in port and nothing had kept him up overnight.

On the bright side, the transformation caused by the Event had seemed to shave off a few years on his biological clock. The 54-years old had never felt this good this early in years, and that’s with the investigation work that kept him up ‘til one in the morning taken into account.

Dilip’s cabin, directly linked to his office by a single door, was much larger than even the VIP or officers’ cabins on board, though the base decoration of a carpeted floor and wooden wall panels was pretty much the same. At twice the size of such rooms, the space was dominated by a king size bed on one side. Just above his bed hung a vintage chart of India and an Indian flag he had acquired from a sale in Aberdeen. On either sides of the bed were small wooden nightstands in which he put books he liked to read for his own pleasure, at least when he had time to spare.

Close to the bed were some shelves and a large wardrobe, his biggest storage compartment besides the numerous cabinets recessed into the walls of the cabin. One thing of importance in the room was Dilip’s Hindu altar, which stood out against the rest of the room with its bright colors. The door of the wardrobe was left ajar, revealing a hint of Dilip’s white dress uniform, which he still had to refit to his new body shape.

The rest of the room was occupied by a small kitchenette that allowed the Captain to eat apart from the crew when he felt like it, complete with a well stocked mini fridge, a bar and a table with four seats. From time to time, he liked to order the cooks to prep him a particularly good meal to share with Alejandro and Schmitt in his cabin.

The dog cracked his neck before setting some water to heat on the stove while he took a shower. Hygiene had been a bit… odd to figure out in the first days for the whole crew. Fur didn’t always get along with water, unlike skin despite sweat having the bad tendency of building up rather quickly under his coat whenever he exerted himself. That forced him to be rather generous with soap to avoid spreading his ‘musk’ all over the ship’s hallways.

The feeling of warm water trickling down his back did such good job of soothing the kinks in Dilip’s neck that he had to restrain himself from wagging his tail. Quirks in body language came naturally with the ears and tail and were rather annoying to repress for the Indian, but he had an image to maintain in front of his crew. He was their pack leader after…

What an odd thought. He meant Captain, not pack leader. Better keep a watch on that kind of stray thought.

Considering the stories that went around the ship, Dilip seemed rather fortunate to have wound up with short fur. Another Indian on the crew, Ajit, had turned into a breed resembling Himalayan sheepdogs, and he kept complaining about the amount of time it took him to get washed and dried. The Captain had no such problem, having been saddled with the short furred appearance of an Indian pariah dog if his observations were correct.

And the matter of fur length was but the tip of the iceberg when he compared it to the reaction of most crewmen the day before, when Artyom had offhandedly suggested they use shampoo from a pet shop during dinner. That had caused one hell of a ruckus.

After getting dried (which in the last few days had reintroduced him to the use of hairdryers), Dilip easily slipped inside a new set of tan cargo shorts and his usual pilot shirt, after making sure the epaulettes were correctly fitted. He skipped putting on a tie, the article of clothing being extremely uncomfortable with his new large neck.

Without the need to go out for a while, he left his shoes behind and went to make himself a fresh kettle of tea, with some loose leaves of high-quality Darjeeling he had gone to great lengths to acquire. Some on board might prefer coffee, but he had been a sucker for good tea ever since he had left India to seek out contracts in Europe.

The soft smell of brewing tea wafted up the kettle and hit the dog’s nostrils just the right way, making him release a contented sigh. He carried the kettle and an empty mug to his office, sitting down in his chair and booting up his computer.

Giving the electronics their time to boot up, the Captain briefly perused through a stack of papers he had left on his desk the day before. Nothing out of the ordinary: risk assessments for the new installations, salvage requests for the last few pieces of equipment they needed, training schedules and the lot.

On top of the stack was a paper left behind by Alejandro after they had left crewmembers the chance to come up with ideas for their new vehicle. A car dealership downtown was highlighted on a chart, with an adjoined picture of a boxy Land Rover. So, the idea of acquiring Defenders had won out against the Lada Nivas. Odd, he always assumed the Eastern Europeans would vote for the latter.

Grabbing a pen in his large paw, Dilip filled in the blanks on the requisition document. They would take two Def 90, and six Def 130, preferably with a raid kit. He added mentions for taking along the usual amount of parts before signing the document and putting it in his ‘out’ filer.

By then the computer had finished loading and Dilip quickly opened the connection with the satellite network to see if the HPI guys had gotten round drafting that contract of theirs. And lo’ and behold, after the usual two minutes of dialing the satellites, his computer pinged several times upon receiving the expected mails, one of them holding a very large attached file.

“Time to switch to legalese I guess…” The Captain muttered in distaste as he took a sip of his tea.

The file opened to reveal a document several dozen pages long detailing every aspect of any possible cooperation between his ship and the HPI in excruciating detail, including ridiculous amounts of small print. Dilip quickly went through the different parts of the document before stopping at a particular heading, his mug of tea raised halfway to his muzzle.

“Now that’s new.” He commented, reaching for his phone.

He had a few questions to ask Eko.

The month of June in this part of Europe wasn’t particularly warm, but that didn’t make it cold either: temperatures regularly stuck around the fifteen degrees mark in the morning. There were still some fog banks from the river here and there in the area that were in the process of being quickly dissipated by the heat of the rising sun.

Building the makeshift shooting range had been little trouble for the crew. A handful of empty shipping containers had been moved in place in a matter of minutes, and then Artyom had spent the rest of the time marking the limits with ropes and flags before setting up some plywood targets next to the dyke he had chosen.

He had made damn sure the shooting range would be pointed away from any dangerous terminal in the harbor. You never know when a stray shot ricochets off the berm and flies off to hit something dangerous.

A couple tables and a tent had been set up next to the shipping containers, as well as a whiteboard on an easel so Artyom could give his instructions clearly.

And now the dragon found himself standing with a pair of ear defenders on his head watching Nikola shoot a few rounds at the targets.

The Bulgarian raised his tan colored rifle and carefully took aim at the targets. Artyom eyed his technique critically, watching the gargoyle adjust his stance a few times before finally flipping off the safety and shooting twice at the silhouette painted on the plywood board.

A thin trail of smoke rose up from the muzzle of the weapon, accompanied by the telltale smell of burnt gunpowder in the air. Artyom didn’t miss the wince that marred Nikola’s features the moment he pulled the trigger; and neither did Sri beside him.

Nikola kept his gun pointed at the target for a few seconds before lowering it back in patrol-ready position, flicking the safety back on almost as an afterthought.

“Yeah sorry about that Artyom but that’s no shooting for me.” Niko said with a shake of his head.

“Not a problem, I kind of expected it.” He shrugged. “Think you can run overall safety while we do the instructor job?”

Niko nodded and went to set down his rifle on the table after taking care of removing its mag and the chambered round.

“How is the technique anyway? Don’t hold back, I’m not thin-skinned.” He asked.

“In all honesty?” Sri said, the hippogriff walking up to his colleague with a cigarette held in his beak. He had a raspy voice from all his smoking. “I can see where you get your ideas from but you’d be less rusty after spending fifteen years in seawater.”

“Contrarily to you both I wasn’t in a combat unit so at least I got that excuse as a defense. What did you see?”

The female hippogriff sat down on his haunches and scratched the side of his beak distractedly with a talon.

“Breath control is the biggest thing I can see. You stay too long in…” The Indonesian hesitated. “Damn, what’s the word again? Apnea I think? You stop breathing too long; that makes you start shaking instead of being more stable. Stance wise, I see you’re hesitating but I got no advice for you. Hooves feel different?”

“That they do.” Nikola said, removing his flak jacket. The jacket was only there to carry his mags since he had removed the Kevlar plates before coming. Not that they expected any attack inside the port terminal: the sailors manning the guard post made sure of that. “I can’t help but feel less stable. Where’s the coffee?”

“Inside the tent. Didn’t take milk though, Rahul wouldn’t let me.” Artyom said.

Niko walked in the tent and served himself a cup of black coffee before sitting down on a foldable chair.

“I was thinking maybe using my tail would make me more stable but…” He threw a glance at the appendage that snaked its way out of the back of his coveralls. “I really have a hard time controlling it. Not as bad as my wings, but it still feels… foreign I’d say.”

“Same goes for me. At least I manage not to get it stuck in doors but that’s about it.” Artyom said, sitting down in front of Nikola.

Sri quirked an eyebrow when both turned to stare at him expectantly.

“If you’re expecting a confession on that from me you’re gonna be disappointed.” He showed off his rump slightly. “That’s not exactly a tail, mind you. Only a crest of feathers attached to my ass. I guess I can move them and it’s probably meant for flying.” He said, moving the wings under his coveralls for emphasis. “But in either case I’m a quadruped, we don’t use the same firing position.”

“Figured one out, have you?” Artyom said.

“I think I do. Still no equivalent for firing on the move or standing, but I got a prone and a sitting position.”

“Close enough. Wanna try it now?”

“Would have done it whether you agreed or not.” Sri said, sliding a mag in his gun. “How long do we have?”

“A whole hour before the first training group arrives.” Nikola said after a quick check on his watch.

Sri went back to the firing line and sat down on his haunches. He pointed a talon at his ears to tell the other two to put on their ear defenders before pulling the cocking lever on his own rifle, a scoped SCAR like Artyom’s and Nikola’s.

Shouldering the rifle, the hippogriff leaned slightly forward, trying to balance out his positioning so he would be able to take the recoil. Behind him, his tail feathers swished in the sand, lifting up small amounts of it every time he shifted his position.

And then he flipped off the safety switch and released three shots in quick succession, all of which impacted the throat of one of the target silhouettes installed earlier by Artyom. His shoulders barely moved when he fired, the brunt of the recoil appearing to be taken by his back.

Sri frowned at the impact marks on the target, switching the cigarette in his beak from side to side. A click resounded as he put the safety back on before turning to the two sailors behind him.

“I think the zeroing on my scope needs some adjustments. Those shots were aimed at the head.” He said slowly.

“Nah it’s normal. You’re too close to the target for the range it’s set at. If you’re closer than the distance it’s zeroed at, you need to aim low, not high.” Artyom explained. “How does the technique feel?”

“Good enough to shoot above short cover.” Sri said nonchalantly. “Frankly if I need to hold the position then I’m better off going prone for the height I gain doing that. More stable too.” He then looked for a moment at his rifle. “If I’m entirely honest the sitting position doesn’t feel good for sustained fire, much less full-auto. At least that’s the way it feels for me, maybe one of the griffons could manage the increased recoil with their tail but a hippogriff would have to take it all with their back. Rifle only then, maybe a submachine gun in full auto but the MAG’s are a big no-no.”

“Good to know, you’ll be the one teaching them anyway. Want to get a few more shots off?”

“Thanks but no thanks. I’d rather rehearse the lesson plan you’ve got. We begin with a dry run, right?”

Artyom nodded, pulling out a small notebook out of his pocket. He had written down the entire process he had planned in it, complete with the previous results the sailors had obtained when they tested them on weapon manipulations. He tossed it to Sri who snatched it out of the air with ease.

“Groups are intended to be half quadruped, half biped so we can each focus on our own type. I divided them all in small groups we can manage with just two instructors, but I kept the more technical stuff for another day. Today’s just regular shooting with rifles, machineguns and the less-lethal weapons.”

Sri looked at the text written in the notebook, flipping idly through the thin pages.

“No contest on what you’ve written. However… I’ve never used the less-lethal launcher. FN 303, fancy modern tech that, no idea how it works.”

“Think paintball gun on steroids.” Nikola piped in. “Only word of advice: don’t try it on monsters.”

Sri and Artyom stared incredulously at the gargoyle.

“You actually went and shot one of the quarry eels with those?!”

“It was an accident.” Nikola admitted sheepishly. “I forgot I had a 303 instead of a regular pistol. It was a spur of the moment kind of thing, pull out what’s in the pistol holster and shoot.”

“And?”

“Well for one the eel sent me fucking flying.”

Right then Sri burst out laughing hysterically, his laugh coming out slightly wheezing from the smoking. His cigarette fell out of his beak and in the sand of the shooting range.

“Sorry Niko but I’m just picturing the eel giving you an annoyed glare then slapping you away with its tail.”

Nikola rolled his eyes.

“Bit less funny when you take into account said slap was strong enough to bruise my ribs. Anyway, FN 303, wanna try it?” He said, pulling out his from his holster.

Artyom diplomatically steered them away from talking about Nikola’s little failure by getting one of the carbine versions of the 303 and drawing their attention to the weapon. The gun launched small balls that disintegrated upon impacting their target to cause blunt trauma. A couple boxes of ammunition they had found for them also held some paint or tear gas in the balls for added effect, but the weapon was clearly made to disperse crowds and neutralize unarmored targets… which the quarry eels certainly hadn’t been.

The 303’s were very short ranged compared to a normal weapon, and the balls didn’t travel fast at all meaning they were pretty easy to dodge if you were paying attention. Nevertheless, as the target they had chosen showed, the weapons were rather accurate and easy to aim. They also noted that even the carbine version suffered from having a very small magazine, which posed a problem since the rounds were so easy to dodge.

Tempting as it was for Nikola, he managed not to shoot a ball of tear gas at Sri who was still snickering at the gargoyle’s story with the eels.

Soon after they trained with the 303’s, the first batch of trainees turned up and they had to bring their firing to a halt and address the sailors.

Vadim looked hesitantly at the list on his desk. It was now early in the evening and he had spent most of the day giving his first-aid lessons to various groups to the point he could almost hear himself droning about the correct procedure from how repetitive it had been. The only thing that had made the day bearable was the time he had spent on the shooting range. Not that he was particularly good at it (far from it actually, but if they ever had to broadside a barn he would be able to hit it… most of the time), but that had brightened up his day enough that he could push through the bore that basic first-aid was.

The list in front of him held a couple names, those belonging to the crewmembers that had volunteered to become his medical assistant. And now he had to pick one. And boy was he surprised when he got a look at the name on top of the list.

Boris had come as a surprise to the Officer. Vadim had always pictured the Russian in a somewhat unsavory fashion because really, there was no other way to say it: he was a complete and utter Gopnik. The Russian turned griffon had always been one of the least respectable members of the crew and Vadim often saw him as one of the reason Eastern Europeans had a bad reputation in some ports.

But the griffon must have had a change of heart at some point because he certainly didn’t behave the way he used to before the Event. And his results showed: the Russian had been extremely attentive during his lessons, and from what he had gathered the case was pretty much the same when it came to weapons training and helping around the ship. What pushed him to behave like that, he had no idea, but he wasn’t going to complain.

Vadim stared at the new photo of the Russian that was attached to his file, showing him a wide eyed goshawk front with piercing yellow eyes and a striped brown and grey pattern on his chest feathers, clashing with the dark brown feathers that covered his back and the outer side of his wings. Dilip had ordered shortly after the change that every photo in their files be updated, and since body differences were so high, he had added a complete body picture in addition to the facial one. As far as Boris was concerned, that only meant Vadim could see his feline half was that of a lion and that he was slightly shorter than him in opposition to how it had been before the change, back when the Russian used to be 1m93.

The next best sailor for the place was one of the Filipinos, a parrot apparently, but his results were nowhere near as good as those of Boris which meant Vadim didn’t really have any choice… But still, that was a hell of a surprise. Should he really give the place to a guy he had seen chug a bottle of vodka under a minute? The thought of him not really being any better didn’t cross the Ukrainian’s mind.

Vadim clicked his beak in thought. He needed someone’s opinion… someone he could trust with assessing Boris’ attitude. A light bulb practically lit up above his head.

Micha. The Pole’s name had crossed his thoughts by sheer coincidence but he had been in the afternoon shooting range group with Boris. Surely he would have a better idea about it than him. His mind made; the griffon tucked Boris’ file under a wing and left his cabin for the Officers’ lounge where Micha usually spent his free evenings; at least when Alejandro wasn’t hogging the room to watch his series.

There were only two people in the lounge when Vadim walked in. Geert and Micha were sitting at the table, playing checkers. Each of the players was sipping from his own cup of coffee, with the Pole's being decorated with the picture of a winged hussar. Both completely ignored the griffon, their mind set on beating their opponent at the game laid in front of them.

Geert was still injured from being bowled over by the wood hound earlier that week. His shoulder was free from the sling but that wasn’t the case for his hip, which was encased in a brace that kept it from moving until the articulation had recovered correctly. And that would take time if Vadim’s books had been correct: the red feathered Dutchman could look forward to hobbling around on crutches for about two months with the bracing on.

Silently, the Ukrainian slid behind the bar to grab himself a clean mug with the two other Officers still failing to notice him. A large thermos of coffee had been left by the bar, and Vadim was all too glad to tap into its reserve of precious mind fuel.

At the table, Geert was hunched over the board looking at the pieces with his injured leg splayed out to the side. The parrot brushed his large ears distractedly with a talon while he thought about his next move. And then the pieces clicked together and he stared at Micha with a gleam in his eyes.

“You’re done with that one.” He said as he grabbed one of his pieces and eliminated three of Micha’s in a row.

“I beg to differ.” Micha fired back, clicking his tongue in amusement before starting a move that cleaned the board of all but one of Geert’s pieces. Adding insult to injury, the move was only made possible by Geert’s previous capture of Micha’s pieces.

“Bull-fucking-shit!” The parrot cried out, slamming his fist on the table. “No way you could have prepared that!”

“Eh, you’re not wrong.” Micha shrugged. “I’m not that good at board games. That was pure luck.” He admitted. “Wanna finish the game?”

“No point really. I’m not coming back from that one.” Geert pushed the board away in distaste. “Damn lucker…”

“At least you got some success with checkers. Shame that doesn’t carry over to cards ‘cause God knows you’re hopeless at poker.” Vadim piped in.

Both Micha and Geert jumped in surprise, not having noticed the griffon who was sipping his coffee from behind the bar.

“Son of a bitch Vadim, we need to put a bell on ya or something.” Micha said. “How long have you been there?”

“Dunno, ‘bout two minutes or three.” Vadim said, joining them at the table. “How was your day both?”

Geert started off as he was putting the board back in its box.

“Fine I guess? I spent most of the day giving Bart a crash course on English. Good thing Dutch and English are so similar in grammar; give me a week or two and I should be able to get him to get his point across. Besides that, I tried to join in on the shooting but Artyom wouldn’t even let me shoot prone.” The parrot complained. “Didn’t miss seeing Micha nail the targets like a pro tho’, you should have seen that.”

Vadim turned a questioning glance towards the Pole.

“I guess you could say that.” Micha admitted. “Back home I used to go hunting with my gramps before he passed away. I tried some sport shooting after that for a bit but I just didn’t have time with all the sailing around.” He shrugged. “I hadn’t shot in years; guess marksmanship is like biking, you can’t forget it.” He shook his head. “Anyway, you look like you wanted to ask me something?”

The grey-falcon griffon nodded.

“Correct.” He reached under his wing with a claw and pulled out Boris’ file which he had been keeping underneath his long primary feathers. “I need your opinion on Boris.” He said, dropping the file in front of the other, bald eagle headed griffon.

“The resident Gopnik? What’s with him? Overdosed on sunflower seeds?” Geert said.

“Wouldn’t be surprised if he did, but that’s not the matter at hand… err, claw that is.” He said, eyeing his taloned appendage quizzically. “After he went through my first-aid training session, he came to present me his candidature as my medical assistant.”

“You’re fucking with me.” Micha stated, looking at Vadim with wide eyes. The Ukrainian noted in passing how the green highlighted feathers around the Pole’s eyes seemed to make his irises stand out… He shook his head. How odd.

“I wish I was, but it’s all there in the file.” He said, tapping the papers with his talons.

Micha opened the file, Geert scooting over to take a look at the papers. Inside the plastic folder were every document they had to track the Russian griffon’s data, from medical reports to performance overviews as well as his CV and a couple photos. At the top of the pile were a copy of his candidature letter (written in Russian, meaning only Vadim was able to read it of all three around the table), as well as his results from the training sessions they had done since the Event.

“He got a 100% on all tests? God damn, I thought he was just a fucking idiot.” Geert commented.

“Looks like he just didn’t put his back into it before. The Apocalypse does wonders to motivation if his results are anything to go by. What were you wondering about anyway?” Micha asked.

“I just had my doubts about giving him the position is all. The guy is alright it’s just that… There is a difference between regular deck work and advanced medical care. And that’s the same guy I went on a bar crawl with in Hamburg.” Vadim explained. “I do have more than one candidate but the performance difference between Boris and the next best guy is like night and day.”

“If I may sneak in my own grain of salt, as long as his results put him ahead of the competition like that you don’t have an actual reason to refuse his candidature. For all I know he’d be justified to take it to the Captain if you say no, and I’m 100% certain Artyom would back him up.” Geert said.

“Because he’s Russian?” Micha asked.

“Because he’s Union, and Artyom’s both the boatswain and the Union rep.” Geert pointed out.

Micha shrugged.

“Fair enough. But I may have an idea that could ‘soothe your calms’ about the guy, Vadim.” The Pole said.

“Shoot, it’s not like I have any idea how to go about it.”

Micha fished out a folded piece of paper from one of his pockets and laid it out on the table. On it was a large scale map of downtown Antwerp with some highlighted destinations.

“We’re hitting a couple targets tomorrow for salvage.” He began. “Artyom’s going North around the canals to get the fleet of Defenders we decided to add to our vehicle list.” He said, tapping a talon on one part of the map that was covered in canals and bridges. “Me, I’m going south of the Central Station. There are a couple shops I need to visit, most important of all being a gunsmith. Nothing too big on my end, so I just planned for a single Unimog with a three man team. So… just come along with Boris and grill him while I do my shopping spree.” Micha offered. “You don’t have too much work tomorrow, do you?”

Vadim thought about it for a bit. He had to remove Farkas’ stitches in the infirmary, and Bart was just about ready to be discharged (or at least transferred to a proper cabin), then he had one more group to give a first-aid lesson to; but that should only really keep him busy until noon.

“What about leaving at one o’clock?” He proposed.

“Will do. You tell Boris?” Micha said, finishing his mug of coffee.

“No problem with that.” Vadim said.

The Ukrainian got up from the table and stretched out his wings. He was finding himself opening the zippers on his coveralls increasingly more often to let the appendages move freely, and they were not quite as annoying as they were in the beginning now that he was starting to get a measure of how to control them. He had gotten the open/close part down and had just figured out how to use them to hold onto something if he tucked it under the primaries, which he did with Boris’ files.

Those wings were still sensitive as all hell but he could manage.

“Might have to preen your wings a bit Vadim, you’re starting to look shaggy.” Geert commented offhandedly.

“One day when I figure it out maybe.” The griffon said. “I’m not quite as worried about the state of my feathers as you parrots seem to be.” He added before walking out. “Good night.”

Geert turned to Micha, the parrot brushing his talons through his multicolored crest of feathers.

“I’m not fussy about my feathers, am I?”

“You kind of are. As a matter of fact he’s right about you and the rest of the parrots being… err, let’s say you’re all very mindful of your appearance.” Micha said diplomatically.

Geert frowned.

“You did spend most of our game session brushing your tail feathers with a claw. Don’t lie, I saw you.” Micha pointed out.

“Bu-“

“And Alejandro has been styling his crest as well. He’s never done that with his hair before. Admit it; you guys have developed a narcissistic streak.”

The Dutchman crossed his arms with a scowl. His sleeves had been folded up to the elbow to show off the multicolored feathers typical of a scarlet macaw.

“So what if we are?”

“Nothing really.” Micha clicked his beak. “Just making you aware your transformation may have brought on some mental changes.”

The Fourth Officer stared at Micha for a moment before letting out an annoyed trill and grabbing his crutches. He hobbled towards the door and addressed the female griffon one last time before leaving.

“Makes me wonder. If us parrots were affected mentally by the change, what’s there to say ‘bout you griffons, uh? G’night.”

To that question, Micha didn’t really have an answer.

“Ok, run that by me again, from the start this time.” Roberto said from his chair.

Still late in the evening, three men were gathered around the desk inside the secretary’s office. The place wasn’t as richly decorated as the Captain’s, and was nowhere near as roomy. Though it was by no means small, the sheer amount of filing cabinets and shelves made the room seem a lot smaller than it actually was.

The filing cabinets and impressive amount of paperwork shared their space with shelving units filled with communication equipment: battery chargers for the radios, small laptops, folding antennas and other satellite phones Roberto had pulled out of a container and prepared for any group sent away on salvaging duties. Next to them were some general electronics and coiled connecting cables, all neatly sorted by Roberto.

The desk that took central place in the room was rather simple in design, provided you didn’t pay attention to the numerous screens and electronics it had been fitted with. One electrician’s toolbox was laid against it; Roberto used it when work needed to be done on the ship’s server banks.

The Italian had been surprisingly moderate when it came to decorating his workplace: only two things really marked the place as his territory, those being a framed photo of a younger human Roberto next to a racing pilot, and one football scarf from the Juventus.

At the moment, Roberto was sitting in his chair with his crutches in his lap facing the Captain and the Chief Officer, both sat by the desk in front of the cat. He still had bandages around his head for his wounded ear, as well as a splint on both his ankle and his tail, but he was getting better.

“So we got the contract from the HPI this morning.” Dilip said.

“Which you loaded up on the server for storage, and which is the exact same that’s now lying on my desk.” Roberto said, tapping an unsheathed claw on a stack of papers for emphasis.

“And then I contacted agent Eko for clarifications regarding a certain paragraph in the contract.”

“Yeah, that’s what I’m getting stuck on.” The cat said, ear twitching. “What were you getting at by ‘secondary objectives’? It’s like you’re implying we had primary objectives to begin with.”

“The primary objectives are just missions they send us a direct request for. Like the delivery for the prototypes.” Alejandro explained. “The secondary objectives are a list of specific things they want us to retrieve for which they’re willing to pay us a bonus. Which is where you come into play.” The parrot added, grabbing the papers and pulling out a specific page.

On it was a list of seemingly very different objects. Works of art, data banks, archives, scan results, even raw materials. Roberto quickly perused the list, noting that each of the listed items was paired with a number. Dilip leaned over and pointed a paw at the list.

“Those are items the HPI said they were interested in retrieving. The figures you see next to the items in the list are the value they place on them, which is paired with a… catalog of sorts, in the annexes of the contract. Long story short, we get credits with them for any item on the list we bring; which we can exchange for parts and manufactured goods. Some, like works of art and data banks have great value; others like raw materials less so-with the exception of radioactive materials but I have no intention to ever bringing them that, too risky-.” Dilip said.

“You don’t trust them with nukes?” Roberto quirked an eyebrow.

“That’s not it at all.” The Captain shook his head. “It’s just radioactive materials that are risky to carry around. It was hard to manage before the Event, so I’m not gonna have us try it with the added risks now.”

“Sounds good to me. But how does that contract concern me?”

“We need you to do some bit of research in our database. See if you can locate places we can hit for those objectives, and put up a note for what you find on the duty list.” Alejandro said and then looked at the toolbox by the desk. “And maybe if you could make a program to manage those HPI credits, maybe even one that would give an estimation of how much we can make from the various places we hit…” He twirled a talon distractedly. “Just something to manage it digitally.”

“Scusa capo, but I’m only good with hardware. If you want someone to take care of it, then ask either Micha or Aleksei; that should get you better results.” The cat apologized. “I can go look for points of interest-which might take some time-, but the program is a no-can-do.” He said, paws raised in an apologetic manner.

Dilip shook his head and stood up, soon followed by Alejandro.

“It’s no big deal. They’re both already busy with some tasks they were given but surely that program can wait. Think you can manage via paper and spreadsheets in the meantime?” He said.

“Such is my trade Captain; you can rely on it being done. I will have the contract archived and the annexes distributed to the rest of the crew by tomorrow. I don’t know how long it will take to find those points of interest but I should have at least some for Antwerp on a short notice.” The cat rubbed his shin in thought. “May I make a request?”

“By all means…” Dilip said.

“I’m not sure we have that much data available on museums and all that jazz. Most of our database is about port facilities, understandably. So if one of the teams could find some…” He hesitated. “What’s the word for a book with travel destinations in it? The ones you take so you know where to go on a city trip?”

“A travel guide?” Alejandro offered.

“That’s the one!” The black furred cat said, with a snap of his fingers. “That should give us some insight on where to find museums at least.”

“I will put up a note for some then.” The blue parrot said with a shrug.

“Have a good night Roberto.” Dilip said with a short nod before walking out with Alejandro in tow.

Roberto took one more look at the lists in the contract. Apparently, even the Apocalypse wasn’t enough to bring down capitalism and free trade.

Good to know.

Hundreds of kilometers away from Antwerp and Amandine, there was a large building situated on the outskirts of a town. Most of the suburban buildings in the area were short, rarely reaching higher than two stories, and colorful. A lot of vegetation had been planted to decorate the area, with numerous trees breaking up the landscape as well as flower beds by the side of the roads. There was a park close by, with a decently sized pond. That town was modern, and rather well off from what the decorations could tell.

The building, a large stone structure built in the early eighties, had several antennas poking out of its roof. It was surrounded by about half a dozen small wind turbines, placed there to provide it with backup power in case of emergency. It was built with an entirely practical approach, unlike the better looking houses in its vicinity, and that made it a rather foreboding object to look at. This wasn’t helped by the fact the grounds of the building were hidden from sight by a thick hedge and some tall wire fences ensuring it couldn’t be spied on from the road.

Few cars were present on the parking in front of the building. There hadn’t been many people present at the moment of the Event, save for those working on the night shift.

In the dim lighting of the late evening, a white worn-out Toyota suddenly appeared out of thin air in the middle of the parking. Its sole occupant was a small equine with a dark purple coat of fur and a pair of bat-like wings. The little creature was tangled in some oversized clothes and looked utterly confused, staring for a solid three minutes at its hooves through a pair of yellow slitted eyes before finally uttering some words in a high pitched voice.

“Hvad fanden?”

Author's Note

Bit of an hint at the end for you to guess where the story is headed for the next arc.

The story is in a trough, so to speak. Things won't pick up for a while which means the next chapters will be low intensity with more character interactions.

Here's a sat picture of the area they're in.

Chapter 18: Streets of Antwerp

The morning of the 5th of June saw a convoy of trucks leave Amandine in the direction of the city’s commercial districts. Led by Artyom and Angelo in a hooklift truck equipped with a flatbed, the column of vehicles left early in the morning with the intention of obtaining the Defenders they suspected would be found somewhere around the vast amount of docklands and warehouses surrounding the city. They were soon followed by one lone tanker truck leaving to get some extra diesel for the generators (the refill wasn’t necessary per se, but the Captain wanted to keep the tanks topped off whenever possible).

Despite Micha and Vadim’s group not leaving until noon, those ‘expeditions’ still left little in the way of personnel on board of the ship, and only a few crewmembers that weren’t either keeping watch or working on finishing the workshop were able to enjoy some free time. Those few guys could have gone out on the docks to explore the terminal some more and check out some shipping containers, but the arrival of a dense cloud cover and constant drizzle pushed them to stay inside instead.

A single hippogriff could be seen smoking a cigarette by the funnel, and the constant sound of grinding and welding torches was coming out of the open ramps. Both Schmitt and Alejandro were overseeing the works, with the orange scaled dragon being in the process of inspecting the state of some welds on one of the newly installed bulkheads.

On the other side of the car deck they were converting, Alejandro was looking at the piled materials they were going to use for the next part of the building process, particularly the dismantled truck and car lifts they were going to weld in place later in the afternoon.

Work was advancing at a steady pace since they had arrived in Antwerp: a part of the deck had been separated to create a new compartment in which they had already installed machining equipment. The modifications to the ventilation system were complete and they only really had to finish the armory and vehicle repair bay before moving on to the firefighting installations.

Putting the workshop directly underneath the accommodation would have been impossible without removing vehicle access to the ship via the stern ramp, so they had had to move the desired place for the workshop further towards the bow of the ship. It was still possible to get there without passing through the car decks (a thing the Captain was very partial on doing while at sea unless they turned on the ventilation fans, since fumes in the holds were a constant risk) by using one of the long hallways than ran through the entire length of the ship. Said hallways were present on either side of the vessel and were divided at regular intervals by watertight doors.

Using one of the two upper decks would have been a bad idea considering they were open to the elements, so they set to building the workshop on the first entirely protected deck of the ship. Moving it deeper would have been possible, but they found it more convenient to leave it above the waterline and on the same deck as the external ramps. That would make it simpler if they ever had to tow a damaged vehicle to the repair bay.

Obviously the modifications had resulted in a slight loss of cargo capacity, but even with that they still had plenty of deck room to use to store trailers, vehicles and shipping containers. If they went from a capacity of 4000 CEU to about 3600… well it wasn’t such a big deal. As long as they didn’t try to haul an entire terminal worth of containers, they would have plenty of room for the equipment they needed while still retaining more than enough cargo capacity.

Alejandro stopped to direct one crewmember-a sphinx- to haul a roll of insulation foil to the next bulkhead. The leonine creature –Mohammed he was called, the ship’s sole Tunisian- nodded before grabbing the rolls in that telekinesis field sphinxes had control of to make up for their lack of hands. The Spaniard had no idea how it worked, and he wasn’t about to start questioning it.

Sphinxes were peculiar creatures to look at. Their body shape was clearly telling any observer ‘lion’ at first glance, but then came the wings (which, granted, weren’t really visible underneath the nomex coveralls) and their head. From what he had observed on Farkas, Alejandro had deduced that even females (lionesses maybe?) had a mane on their head which bore an uncanny mix of feline and humanoid features. The coloring was another odd part. Alejandro had never heard of a purple furred lion, yet here was a purple colored Mohammed working close by. The other two sphinxes on the crew had a more tame fur color… but their mane made up for it in spades, with the Chief Steward’s being dark blue. All in all, they made it hard to figure out a pattern.

Size wise they were rather large, though not ridiculously so. They were not as big as actual lions that much was certain: they must have been mid-range in size, somewhere between the famed big cats and a large wolf. Certainly bigger than humans, and much bigger than the parrots and griffons on the crew. Only the fact they were walking on all fours would have led someone (someone bipedal he might add, a quadruped would not make that mistake) to believe they were small.

“Mohammed, can you move that stack of welded wire panels to the site of the armory? They need the whole pallet to finish the cages.” Alejandro said, pointing a talon towards the construction materials.

“Na’am sir.” The Tunisian answered with a sharp nod, moving over to the stack.

The site for the armory had been put towards the back of the workshop, and they had made damn sure the place would be protected by several compartments. Maximum safety and security would be needed considering the sheer amount of weapons they had picked up. This would be helped by the new security cameras and magnetic locks they had retrieved from a warehouse in Zeebrugge before coming to Antwerp.

They had designed the future armory so that it was protected by a first bulkhead for which they used triple layered steel plates totaling 15 millimeters of protection. Accesses would be available both on port and starboard via a set of hydraulically powered watertight doors that could be controlled from the bridge or the engine room (a design they had copied from the ship’s initial watertight doors), or opened using a four-digit code (as long as the master controls on the bridge allowed it).

Further protections would be installed inside by putting the weapon racks inside several reinforced walk-in cages. They didn’t put digital codes or magnetic locks on these (not that they couldn’t, but such measures would have bordered the excessive), instead opting for regular locks.

The inside of the armory was scheduled to be fitted with the gunsmith workbenches and tools they had retrieved from the navy base in Zeebrugge, as well as being used to store all their weapon related gear (like the flak jackets) with the exception of grenades and ammunition which were stored in a container on the main deck.

Not that the ammo wasn’t secure, far from it: measures had been taken to install firefighting installations to the ammo containers, as well as security features. The reason they had put it in a more exposed area as it were was in case of fire. They’d rather have the explosives and gunpowder blow up outside the ship and torch the deck than ripping a hole in the hull.

“Chief?” Mohammed asked, the sphinx coming up behind Alejandro. “Panels in place, what’s next?”

Alejandro’s eyes flicked to some large tubes that ran across the ceiling. They passed through holes pierced in the steel beams of the ship’s structure, covering all areas of the vessel. Their purpose was to pass wires and pipes from one compartment to another.

“How good is your telekinesis control?” The parrot asked.

“Decent I guess.” The sphinx rolled his shoulders in the closest approximation of a shrug he could achieve.

“Think you can pass the new wiring through to the workshop? I’m not asking you to make the connection, just place it so that it’s ready when the electrician from engineering moves on to it.” He said, motioning with his large beak in the direction of some spools of wire. “The tubes are already in place, and the path is marked on the plans right by Schmitt.”

“Will do.” The sphinx started to walk away before turning back towards his superior. “How do I know which goes where?”

“Easy.” Alejandro said, crossing his arms. “The spools are already measured and marked with a number each. You just have to match it with its equivalent on the plan and then you got the path it’s supposed to follow. Sounds good?”

“Yes sir.” Mohammed nodded before he walked off to get a look at the plans.

With the Tunisian busy with a new task, Alejandro flipped open one of his pockets and pulled out the task list he had prepared for the day. Busy as ever, he noted, but at least the end was in sight for the modifications… until they came up with something new to add to the ship that is. The list went back inside his pocket with the Spaniard releasing a tired sigh.

Modifying a ship like that wasn’t too foreign too him, he did work a stint as inspector on a dry dock for a couple years after all. Still, he had left that job to work full-time at sea for a reason.

The Spaniard meandered over to a crate filled with sprinkler heads and pipe connectors. He stopped in his walk to stare at the crate for a few seconds before storming off in the opposite direction.

“¡Joder! I forgot the pipes for the sprinklers.” He said, following the declaration with a longer stream of curses both in English and Spanish.

The two nearby welders stopped briefly to watch their superior storm off like that. The first one, a Filipino that had turned into a parrot (a golden parakeet) gave his colleague a questioning glance. The other, a hippogriff, just shrugged and lowered his welding mask before getting back to work.

Alejandro did that all the time anyway. What’s new with him running around fixing things last minute? Plus, as long as the Spaniard was running after parts he wasn’t breathing over their neck. He just didn’t need to know they still had about eight hours before the pipes would even be needed.

The beeping from Bart’s heart monitor reverberated through the infirmary as Vadim did his last checks on the unicorn’s health.

There were four people in the infirmary at the moment: Vadim, who was checking out the progress on Bart’s wounds; Geert, who was quietly observing from the back and giving translations when necessary, and lastly Farkas. The Chief Steward laid belly down on one of the beds, awaiting his turn for Vadim to remove his stitches.

The Ukrainian griffon was humming as he took the sky-blue furred unicorn’s parameters and compared them to the ones he had written down in his file the last few days. Steady increase in blood pressure, good. He was recovering from the blood loss. Temperature… plateaued after a while and stable. Vadim had no idea what he was supposed to see on the electrocardiogram but as long as it was steady, he supposed it was good. Most of the observations were guesswork and comparison with human parameters which most likely wasn’t the best of ideas, but he didn’t have a healthy patient to compare the unicorn to.

Vadim idly contemplated gathering parameters from certain members of the crew to get an idea of what he should see on healthy individuals of a certain species. Might be a good idea, but that would have to wait until he processed more important things like the blood type problem.

He had done a quick test on a sample of the unicorn’s blood. What came out was a completely different type from human blood, yet there was hope because it contained markers he had seen on other species like the hippogriffs and the gargoyles. He would have to test compatibility between those; maybe that would confirm his idea of it being a new blood type. For now he would just keep calling it group C until he got a confirmation.

But that pointed to another… odd matter. He was no medical expert but he knew individuals of a same species didn’t necessarily have the same blood type. On the other hand, the results he had obtained from sampling the entire crew told him the exact opposite: all griffons were A-type, as well as the parrots. The dogs and cats all had B-type blood, and the hippogriff and gargoyles had AC and BC blood respectively. All negative type too. Mind boggling really, but he’d rather trust his observations than assumptions made from reading his medical encyclopedia (which did it a disservice considering how bloody helpful that thing was).

Moving on to examining the wounds, Vadim was pleased to see the numerous cuts the unicorn had received from broken glass were scabbed over, and that the deep slash the wood hounds had inflicted on his neck was slowly starting to close. The edges of the cut were clean, with all the stitches solidly in place as far as he could see under the bandages. He prodded the wound with a gloved claw, making sure that his patient moving would not reopen it. Seeing it wasn’t the case, the griffon gave a satisfied snort before reapplying a layer of disinfectant and replacing the bandages.

“Well, it’s all good for you.” Vadim said. “Just let me unplug the IV’s and monitors and then you’ll be on your way.”

There was a pause where Geert translated the sentence for Bart.

“So what will I do next?” The Belgian asked.

“You will be moved to a regular cabin.” Vadim answered after hearing Geert’s translation. “Farkas here will show you your room when I get done with his stitches. I think we already put your stuff in one of the spare cabins, correct Farkas?” The griffon said, motioning towards the sphinx with his beak.

“We have.” The Chief Steward said. “It’s cabin 15, one floor up. You’ll share a bathroom with Nguyen, shouldn’t be too much trouble.”

“That’s all good I guess, but what does that make of me once I’m completely recovered?” The unicorn asked.

“Remember when you woke up and asked about joining the crew? I brought it up with the Captain. He said you could stay as long as we could find some use for you. I told him you could make a great guard at least. Do you have any technical skill by any chance?” Geert jumped in.

“I know my way around weapons I guess.” The unicorn said, but then he brought up a hoof for the parrot to see. “But regardless of whether or not I can fix guns, I don’t think I’m suited for fine manipulations at the moment.”

To that, Geert’s answer was to turn towards Farkas and ask him to levitate something.

“It may be a stretch, but the only guys we have on the crew that lack digits are the sphinxes, and they make up for it by using that telekinesis.” Geert said. “I think it’s worth a shot to check if you can do it as well.”

The unicorn looked at the cardboard box Farkas was floating around in his telekinesis field in bewilderment. Vadim empathized with the guy, it’s not every day you see someone defy the laws of physics in such a manner. But he had to put limits to the practice of sorcery inside his infirmary.

“Guys, I hate to be the stick-in-the-mud of the crew but please keep your Hogwarts-esque shenanigans to a place that’s not holding fragile gear like my infirmary.” He said before pulling out a plastic bag from a cabinet. “As for you, Bart, most of your clothes are already in your cabin but I took the liberty of grabbing something for you to be somewhat decent before you get there.”

The bag contained an olive green wool sweater and a pair of elastic sport shorts. The smallest pieces of attire the griffon could find that would fit the unicorn before he got the time to adjust some clothes. The sweater still bore the Corporal’s ranks on the epaulettes, those being two white chevrons that contrasted with the wool’s color.

Funnily enough the wool was the same color as the hair on his mane and tail.

“Thanks doc.” Bart said, accepting the bag and tearing off his hospital gown. The white piece of cloth landed on the side of his bed in a heap. Geert didn’t translate for Vadim; the Ukrainian hated being called that anyway. Something about not being an actual doctor.

Geert had to help the military guy put on his clothes. Bart’s lack of experience with his hooves made sure the Belgian had a hard time getting anything done with them, which was not helped by him having to avoid putting stress on the stitches on his neck.

Meanwhile, the griffon had rolled his stool over to Farkas’ bed. He put on a fresh pair of nitrile gloves to avoid contaminating his patient before leaning over the sphinx’s wounds.

“Been taking your antibiotics as planned?” Vadim asked.

“Just the usual. I take my pills in the morning, I take them in the evening, and I make sure my bandages are clean. I know the drill.”

“Any pain?” Vadim was already peeling off the bandages.

“Not really. I take a paracetamol once in a while but that’s just me stressing the wounds because I move around too much.”

Starting with the gash on the sphinx’s paw, the griffon was pleased to see the wound had closed up nicely. His biggest worry of fur getting inside the wound turned out to be unfounded, though he had to blame his lack of experience on the scar being a bit too rough looking. Now to remove the sutures…

Having had what he would later call an ‘innovative’ idea, the griffon had only packed a pair of tweezers for the removal. The tool he would use to cut the suture wire? His talons.

Now, it was easy to notice for Vadim after his transformation that griffons as a species were gifted with wickedly sharp talons, much more so than those of hippogriffs. Generally speaking, that was a disadvantage that made using delicate equipment harder unless said talons were trimmed regularly. Considering there was no real reason justifying having permanent knives affixed to their hands, most of the griffons on the crew had thus resolved themselves to trimming them at regular intervals.

Vadim did that too, but he had also gone one step further in his thinking. The night after he was transformed, the griffon had decided to keep one sharp talon on each claw. To keep them from damaging stuff when he didn’t mean to, Vadim had wrapped some rubber tape around them which he could tear off when the occasion presented itself.

The fact that he kept a knife on his person at all times anyway didn’t cross his mind.

The Officer ripped off the tip of the finger on his nitrile glove, revealing the wrapped talon. A second later, the tape came off as well and he applied a generous dose of disinfectant on his talon.

“What are you gonna do with that?” Farkas asked, eyeing the talon warily.

“I’m making use of the tools that this new body provides me dear Steward.” The griffon said, puffing up the grey feathers on his chest.

Before his patient had the time to flinch or retreat, he slipped a talon under the wire, cutting it with little resistance meeting the sharp bit of keratin. A twirl of his tweezers later and the wire was extracted from the Greek’s flesh and tossed in the trash.

“See? No trouble at all. If anything it’s easier to use than scissors.” The griffon stopped to eye the wound with his sharp eyes. “And from the looks of it the wound is sealed enough that I can remove the rest as well without it breaking open. Now if you would please relax you big baby.”

Removing the rest of the wire posed no more trouble than the first bit. The sphinx’s wounds would result in scars on his paw and his head, but his fur looked thick enough to hide the scar tissue and preserve his good looks. Vadim proceeded to wrap the scarred over wounds under some bandages before straightening up, his work finished.

“By the way Farkas, how’s it going mentally? I know most of the guys turned gals on the crew have been sticking with each other to cope but I don’t see you socializing much.” Vadim tried.

The Greek sphinx turned his head to address the griffon a cold stare that made the feathers on the back of his neck stand up.

“Schmitt and I have been keeping tabs on the situation of the females on this crew.” He said coldly, his earlier demeanor now gone. “You needn’t worry about it; it’s perfectly under control, Zinoviya.”

Farkas stepped off the bed slowly before making his way to the door. He turned to Geert halfway through the door.

“I’ll be in the cafeteria.” He said before leaving with a huff.

There were a full twelve seconds of silence before Vadim finally spoke up.

“Did I say something wrong?” He asked in confusion.

“Not that I know of. It’s just him in particular.” Geert said with a shake of his head. “Don’t bother yourself with it; I’ll just bring it up with Schmitt later. Can’t say that was unexpected tho’.”

“What do you mean ‘not unexpected’?”

“It’s a bit hard to tell with him because he hides it so well but he’s been distancing himself as time passes.” Geert shrugged. “Of all the close relations he has on board, there’s only Schmitt that’s been gender bent. The rest? Alejandro, the Captain; friends indeed but not so close that he could talk to them freely about it.”

Vadim winced. Maybe pushing on with work like they did was just delaying the problem and not actually addressing it. He took a look at the clock in the room. Half past noon.

“I don’t have time to deal with this right now. I only got half an hour to grab a bite of something before I leave with Micha, and I still got to tidy up the infirmary…” Vadim said, trailing off.

“Then let me help.” Geert offered. “Go to the cafeteria, I’m not as busy as you are, can’t be that hard to shelve medical supplies uh?”

The griffon hesitated for a bit, staring at the parrot that was sitting on Bart’s bed before shaking his head in resignation.

“Alright, just be careful with the gear. It’s fragile. The tweezers and tools go in the sink, just put them in a tray filled with disinfectant.” He said, stowing his stool under one of the beds. “You’ll remember to bring up Farkas’ case to Schmitt?”

“Don’t worry, I will.” The parrot said with a dismissive wave. “Now shoo, you’re gonna be late at this rate.”

“Yeah, right. Uh, thanks for that and…” He pointed a talon towards Bart. “Mind the wound; I don’t wanna redo those sutures, copy?”

“We get it, now git before I change my mind.” Geert said, one claw pointing towards the door.

Half an hour and a quick stop at the ship’s vault later, Vadim was coming down the stairs next to the stern ramp, ready to leave. He had made some adjustments to the layout of the pouches on his flak jacket after having had the chance to try out shooting the day before. The new layout gave him a better access to his mags and shifted the less essential pouches (like the one in which he kept loose rounds) to his back. The fit still wasn’t ideal and would remain that way until he took the time to tailor the jacket to his new form, but the ergonomics were miles ahead of what he had used when he had raided the clinic in Zeebrugge.

Boris had already rolled one of the unimogs out of the holds (one of the olive green ones) and was in the process of mounting one of their machineguns to what looked like a ring mount.

“Didn’t know these could mount a gun…” He mused as he approached the vehicle.

“I know right?” The Russian said, having heard his superior. “At first glance I thought these were just made for extra lights and maybe a winch or an external roll cage but then I noticed the hatch in the ceiling of the cabin. They’re made to fit MAG’s to boot… which isn’t really a surprise come to think of it. We did get the mogs and the guns from the same base.”

Saying that, he finished securing the gun to the ring and jumped off the vehicle, landing neatly on all fours.

“I packed four belts for it, one’s already loaded on the gun, and the others are in the cabin. If we keep that, plus our rifles and pistols we should be fine I think, ladno?”

“Fine by me, I don’t have any less-lethal on me though.” Vadim said, rolling his shoulders to emphasize the FNC slung across his back as well as the pistol holster he had put on his offhand shoulder.

“Don’t worry ‘bout that.” Micha’s voice came from the back of the truck. “I got a 303 pistol myself, if that’s even a thing we’re gonna need.”

The female griffon came walking around the truck, already clad in proper gear and with one of the ship’s few SCAR’s slung across his back (his results on the range the day before justified him getting one over other crewmembers). Tucked under his flak jacket was a map of the city he had been inspecting prior to Vadim’s arrival.

“How was lunch?” Micha asked politely.

“Decent. Had to hurry a bit because I got held up in the infirmary but at least Nguyen is cooking things that aren’t necessarily Asian now.”

“Hmm, maybe one day I’ll convince him to make pierogis for a change. Been years since I had some.” Micha commented. Vadim noted in passing that the bald-eagle griffon wasn’t deepening his voice as hard as he used to. “You filled the tank yet Boris?”

“Da.”

Having already planned the trip on the map, Micha took the wheel after programming the planned address in their GPS. Vadim took the seat in the centre of the cabin, with Boris taking the last one just beneath the hatch for the machinegun. After asking the approval for the trip to the bridge via radio, they finally rolled down the ramp and drove out of the harbor terminal.

The two sailors left at the checkpoint waved at them when they passed, and then they were on the road. The distance to downtown Antwerp may have been close as the crow flies (and none of the griffons in the group could), but the design of the extensive port installations was complicated to get out of due to the many artificial waterways that had been dug into the banks of the river, creating a literal maze of locks and bridges. The GPS made them take numerous turns to go around other terminals and refineries. While the port did have a highway system, it was unfortunately leading out of the town (logical in a sense, few cities would want a continuous stream of lorries passing downtown).

After a good half-hour of driving, they broke away from the port and finally drove into the city proper. The particularity with the Scheldt River and Antwerp was that there were no bridges built over it, only tunnels. The sailors’ green mog emerged out of the tunnel into a city they were more or less familiar with, having already stopped there a few times in the past (though if they were entirely honest about it they had more experience with its red light district than its churches).

Before the Event, Antwerp had been a rather well off city, and most of all it was an old city. Modern glass buildings shared the streets with centuries-old houses, and large avenues were just as likely to be found as the twists and turns of old paved streets typically found in European cities. Along the banks of the river, they could see a castle sharing the space with the modern control tower of the harbor authority. All in all, a city that had seen its fair share of history, which made it a shame that it was now completely abandoned and left to deteriorate like that. Almost two weeks after the Event, the city was still almost pristine save for small signs like overgrown flower trays and swarms of flies coming from food shops and restaurants.

The bigger concern the crew had with going downtown was the zoo that was placed in the very centre of the town, next to the Central Station. Vadim would have liked to take a peek at the iconic building; unfortunately he didn’t fancy getting devoured by escaped lions. Sure they could have gone there and shot the critters, but what would be the point in doing that? The animals didn’t deserve an execution like that. Micha made a point of avoiding the area by taking the smaller, narrower streets instead of the avenues that focused around the station like wheel spokes around a hub.

Vadim turned his focus away from looking at the passing buildings and to the Russian griffon beside him. Boris was idly flicking the control of the gas valve on his rifle back and forth.

“So Boris…” Vadim started. “I saw your name on the volunteer list for the medical assistant position yesterday. I must say, I was rather surprised. Care to explain?”

“Uh?” The goshawk took a second to realize his superior had asked him a question. “Yeah, I did volunteer. What’s with that?” He asked, his head tilted to the side in confusion.

“Coming from you, I’d call that odd.” Vadim continued before Boris got any chance to open his beak and retort to that. “Before that whole Apocalypse thing got started your performance reports were noticeably lower. Not bad per se, but I’m curious as to what’s gotten into you since we all grew a pair of wings?”

Boris quirked a feathery brow at that remark.

“Look Vadim, I know you think I’m some sort of backwards moron.”

“I don-“

“Yes you do.” The Russian frowned. “And up until now I never bothered to correct you ‘bout it ‘cause that meant my boss wasn’t gonna start laying more work on me for nothin’. There was no reason behind getting any better, and as long as you thought that way… well, it was all the better for me.”

“So the gopnik behavior was just a gig?” Micha butted in, eyes still focused on the road.

“Performances are met and I maximize my free time. I just wasn’t interested in working overtime. Not worth it at the time.” Boris explained.

“So it takes the fucking Apocalypse to get you off your ass? Neat, now that I know what to do next time then. I’ll just… end the world as we know it, no biggie.” Vadim drawled. “You’re still a gopnik in my books tho’.”

Boris let out a snort out of his beak nostrils.

“Woe is me; my superior thinks I’m an idiot.” The goshawk rolled his eyes. “You’re saying that like you’re any better. Surprise surprise, last time I checked we went on bar crawls together. Wonder what that makes of you.”

“Unlike you I can muster some class when necessary and I’ve proven it in the past, whereas I only have your word to go by that you’re more than you let on.” Vadim gestured vaguely with his claw. “So by all means Boris, show us how wrong we are.” He taunted.

“’cause the results I got on the last few tests weren’t enough?” Vadim could see the smirk on the Russian’s beak. “Go ahead, give me the position, doc, you won’t regret it.”

“First, don’t call me that, ever.” Vadim glared at the smirking griffon. “Second, you can consider yourself on trial for the position, mudak, but if I ever see you straying one single step to the side, you’ll be wishing the world wasn’t as fucked up ‘cause I’ll whoop your ass.”

Vadim then held up his claw for the Russian to shake. His smirk not leaving his beak, the other griffon took it and squeezed. Hard.

“I’m sure you will, sir.” The sarcasm on the last word was palpable.

“You guys done with the dick measuring contest?” Micha interrupted.

“Hey! We’re no-“Boris attempted before Micha slammed his paw on the brakes.

Both Boris and Vadim slammed their heads against the dashboard and erupted in profanities; the former in Russian, the latter in Ukrainian. While both males were picking themselves up from the sudden stop, Micha turned to them with a stern look on his face.

“Now listen up both of you. As the Second Officer and, need I remind you, your superior to you both, I will not allow that kind of behavior as long as I hold that position.” The Pole pointed an accusatory talon at Vadim. “You do not have the right to threaten him in such a manner, regardless of whether you’re actually going to do it or not and you…” The talon switched target to point towards the Russian next to Vadim “…Need to get off your high horse as well. If you think you’re too good to ‘reveal your hidden talent’ to the rest of the crew then you can fuck right off.” The Pole clicked his beak once. “I’m not going to threaten to beat you up, but be certain of this: now that the cat’s out of the bag about your actual capabilities, I’ll be very keen on looking at the progress of your performance reports, this time without you fooling us, zrozumiany?”

Both griffons nodded frantically.

“I swear Micha, those were just hollow insults. We do that all the time.” The grey falcon griffon turned to the Russian by his side. “Don’t we?”

Boris gave another nod.

“Don’t know, don’t care. No threatening your subordinates with physical harm on my watch. Insults I can live with, but legit threats?” He shook his head. “Keep that to bars and free time if you think it’s necessary, but please, don’t do that on duty Vadim. The Apocalypse is no reason to start behaving like criminals.”

“Will do, I promise.” The griffon said immediately.

The Pole stared at the two other griffons for a few seconds before the corners of his beak shifted upwards in a smile (and how their beaks could be that expressive, Vadim had no idea).

“Much better. We good?” He asked, claw hovering over the gear stick. “Target ain’t much further from here.”

“Sure, we good.” Boris said. Then he leaned over towards Vadim.

“What does zrozumiany mean anyway?” He asked in a whisper.

“Understood. It’s Polish.” The Ukrainian whispered back.

A few minutes later, their truck reached a small paved square surrounded by tall buildings made out of bricks and brownstone. There was a small fenced basketball court in the centre next to some benches. A ring of trees around the square provided shelter from the constant drizzle that pelted down on the city. The trees’ shade, coupled with the grey cloudy sky above gave the area an eerie, gloom filled atmosphere that wasn’t helped by the oppressive feeling the buildings were giving. A couple cars were parked around the area, having been unoccupied at the moment of the Event. From the decorations on the buildings and the car brands, Vadim could see the inhabitants certainly hadn’t been threatened by poverty.

There were a few small sized shops around the square, most of which used to sell antiques, as well as a couple art galleries. The one that stood out from the rest was their target: a gunsmith with a lever action rifle sign hanging above the storefront. Micha stopped the truck right in front of the shop, not caring one bit about designated parking areas.

There were a couple hunting rifles and trophies on display visible through the front window, each held up by a carefully crafted wooden support. What little they could see inside the shop showed more in the back, but now came the matter of entering the secure building. Not helping the matter was the fact the alarm was probably still on: the city had a vast array of wind turbines that kept electricity running despite the shutdown of the nuclear plant, a fact that had just as many ups as it had downs.

“Well that’s all good Officers but I don’t think you actually came expecting to bash the door open with a hammer.” Boris said, noting that Micha did indeed have a hammer on his flak jacket.

“Nah.” The Pole pointed at the apartment windows just above the shop. “I’m thinking vertically.”

The apartment was just one floor above the storefront, but the architecture style of the neighbourhood was made with some pretty tall floors. There were lead gutter pipes on either side of the building that ran down the building’s facade, each burping out a constant stream of water from the rain.

“Last I checked none of us had figured out how to fly yet.” Boris said. “You can’t be thinking ‘bout climbing those pipes?”

“Watch and learn, Ruskie.” The female griffon said.

Micha then shuffled past Vadim, his tail brushing against the Ukrainian’s side and sending a tremor up his spine, his tail going rigid for a second. Vadim got a weird look on his face before shaking his head. Unaware of this, the Pole approached the gutter and took off his safety shoes before grasping the pipe with both claws. Looking up, he saw that most of the wall up to the first floor was made of bricks. Good he thought as he flexed his paw pads, unsheathing the sharp claws on his feline legs.

The other two sailors watched flabbergasted as the Pole started slowly climbing up the facade using the pipe. As he went up the wall, they saw how he was using his paws’ claws to grip onto the wall and hold himself up while he used his forelimbs to pull himself higher. Micha seemed to have a bit of a difficulty doing it, but he eventually reached the first floor without falling and climbed on the windowsill. He pulled out his hammer and brought it down against the apartment’s window, shattering it and opening the way for him to get in.

A few minutes later, a rustling sound came from behind the shop’s door and out came Micha with a smug smile on his beak. Neither Boris nor Vadim entertained the Pole with a comment, entering the shop silently while Micha went to retrieve his shoes.

The shop was, admittedly, small: a single counter presided over the room with a discrete door leading towards the back and into the workshop part. Most of the space inside was occupied by glass display cases that showed a large choice of hunting and sport rifles, optics and ammunition boxes but not much of anything else. Pistols were noticeably few in choice, a mark of the country’s hard stance on self-defence weapons. A single AR15 was displayed in a reinforced glass case, fully kitted out with accessories. Those were famously hard to obtain in Western Europe. An interesting sight, but of no use to them since they already had better rifles of their own, those with selective fire and full auto.

Micha came out of the back of the shop with a travel case cradled under a foreleg and a huge smile on his beak. Noticing Vadim’s inquisitive stare, the bald eagle griffon set down the case and opened it.

Inside the case were a scoped hunting rifle and a few spare mags, held in place by foam cut-outs. The rifle was a bolt action, with a beautifully crafted varnished wooden stock. A folded bipod occupied another spot inside the case, ready to be fitted on the rifle.

“It’s a Sako 85. I always wanted one in the past, they’re damn accurate and the handling is just lovely. I mean... look at that stock! Gorgeous I tell ya, these Finns know how to make good rifles.”

Vadim nodded passively.

“What does it shoot?”

“.308, so it’s compatible with the 7.62 we have on board, though the 7.62 is rated at a lower pressure.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about with pressure but as long as you think it’s fine, I’m gonna trust you.” He waved a claw around, designating the whole shop. “What do you want us to take?”

“No use for the hunting rifles beside mine, military weapons are just better for what we do. The Sako is just a ‘gift’ for myself, so to speak. There are plenty of tools I wish to take in the back on the other hand, so I say we pack as many optics and accessories as we can, then the tools. I saw a reloading bench and plenty of primers and powder for .223 and .308, and there are also some spare picatinny rails which I think we can attempt mounting on the FNC’s. That’s about all we need here.” Micha stopped to think for a bit. “While you’re at it take some .38 too, for the Captain’s revolver. We didn’t find any of that at the base so the supply is kinda low.”

“Tools, accessories, .38, primers, got it.” Vadim nodded. “You heard that Boris?”

The goshawk griffon just moved towards the back and started picking up the gear Micha demanded.

All in all it didn’t take long for them to acquire what they needed from the shop. In about an hour they were already out and moving towards their next objective. Micha’s new rifle had taken a place in the back of the truck’s cabin, its case tucked between the seats and the back of the cabin.

They hit a couple more objectives that day, the most relevant of which were the libraries of both the university and the local maritime academy. Both yielded good results as far as intel was concerned, but they still found themselves forced to raid a book shop by the marina to get the travel guides they wanted to complete data from the university’s directory.

One last thing of notice was what they discovered as they were going to retrieve some specific high end computer parts that had been put on the salvage list (by whom, they didn’t know nor care). They had just raided a sewing shop and a couple clothing stores just for the heck of it and were following their chart to a computer store when Boris motioned for Micha to stop the truck.

The street they were following was halfway closed by works that had been underway before the Event hit. Boris got off the truck and approached a patch of muddy ground next to a cement mixer. Vadim saw him stare at something on the ground and decided to take a look himself. Still very much with the mindset of a bipedal human, Vadim wasn’t particularly fond of walking in the mud with his claws (even though he had gloves on) but alas, such was the life of a quadruped.

A couple of footprints were set in the sand among puddles of rainwater. Very large footprints that were oddly mismatched. Judging from their size and depth, the creature that had made them must have been about as big as a large buffalo, maybe bigger.

Except that unlike those of buffalos, the prints weren’t hooves... at least half of them weren’t, even though they clearly belonged to the same creature: some were distinctly feline while the rest looked more like goat hoof prints.

“Monster?” Vadim asked.

“Most likely.” Boris nodded before raising his head, eyes scanning the area. “Have you seen one of these demonic circles in the area?”

“This city is too much of a maze to find it.” Vadim replied with a shake of his head. “I don’t like this, let’s hurry with the computer shop and go back to the ship.”

Both griffons hurried back to the truck. Vadim quickly used the truck’s radio and switched it to the ship’s frequency in order to warn everyone about the potential risk they had discovered in town. Looking at their map, the Ukrainian scribbled down the location of the prints and their general direction –the zoo apparently, not much of a surprise there-.

They didn’t encounter a monster that day, but the other group (the one busy with getting them the Land Rovers) reported hearing a lot of roars coming from the zoo.

One day earlier

Getting out of the car had been much harder than it had any right to be, and the time it took her to get out wasn’t helped by her having a full blown panic attack upon discovering the extent of the changes her body had undergone. It took her half an hour of happy thoughts and deep breaths to finally manage to calm down.

The hooves prevented her to work the latch on her car’s door which had left her with only one choice.

“Sorry mom.” She had said before hitting the window with one of her hooves. It pained her to damage the car her mother had gifted her like that but she had no choice. The little Toyota had been her faithful companion ever since she had got her license a few years back... but extreme situations lead to extreme solutions.

The window shattered easily under the impact and made the girl-turned-mare aware of one more change she hadn’t noticed yet. Her hearing, which had improved significantly. The crashing noise of the hoof against the glass was enough to make hear ears ring. She pressed her hooves against her large ears, letting out a soft whimper.

The transformation had shrunk her, a lot. Fortunately that made escaping her seat belt and clambering out of the car rather easy. The little equine landed roughly on the asphalt, bruising her shoulder slightly, but she was free.

She tried to get up on her legs but failed miserably. A look at her body to assess the ‘damage’ told her she was some now kind of tiny horse, and naked. Her clothes had fallen off her body when she escaped the car, now way too large for her small frame. Skipping a more thorough inspection of her body, she decided to stick to moving on four legs since that appeared to be what that body was designed for.

Rising up on trembling legs, the mare managed to slowly take her first steps in the direction of the building she had been about to leave before she woke up as a tiny horse (a pony? Probably a pony). The blades of the nearby wind turbines told her the building must have power but... She stopped to look at the sky. It was much brighter than when she had left. Not in the morning... it rather looked like it was in the evening. Had she been gone a whole day? That had felt like the blink of an eye to her, except maybe for a brief flash that had preceded the disappearance.

One of the large fluffy ears on her head twitched and pointed in a direction. She turned her head to follow and stared at the antennas on top of the building in front of her. Faintly, she could hear a beeping noise coming from them.

But that was impossible! Her mind instantly recognised the noise as the signal the antennas were supposed to emit at regular intervals, on MF frequencies. She wasn’t supposed to hear that!

Disregarding the oddity of her newfound audition, the mare walked over to the automatic doors leading inside to the building’s lobby. The place was exactly like when she had left it, barring a very fine layer of dust. She didn’t expect anyone to man the entrance desk at such an hour but... she should have at least heard something coming from the offices or the rec room. Slowly, she started to go deeper inside. All lights were off inside the building, but the whirr of ventilation told her power was still running. On the bright side, her eyes didn’t have any trouble adjusting to the darkness.

She stopped for a second when she saw her reflection appear on a window. Staring back at her was a very short pony. She would barely reach waist height next to a normal human being. She had large yellow slitted eyes that gleamed in the darkness of the building. The eyes were affixed to an equine head with a small muzzle from which two cute little fangs poked out, and fluffy mobile ears that swivelled around to track incoming noises. Her mane was white with a single blue stripe running down its centre, which made a stark contrast with her dark purple coat of fur. She also had a tail, with the exact same color and stripe as her mane. Both had messy hair that stood out at odd angles and frizzy ends, making it look like as if she had a permanent bed head. She could live with that, her hair hadn’t been much better before the change, though at least the color didn’t make her look like a Punk wannabe then.

“Well shit… I’m fucking adorable.” The mare muttered under her breath.

Stranger even than the fact she had somehow turned into a miniature pony, was the pair of bat-like wings neatly folded on her sides. She tried to no avail to move them and, failing that, touched them with a tentative hoof.

Bad idea.

The touch of a hoof against the new appendages sent an electric shock coursing through nerve endings she never knew she had and made her fall over with a cute squeal.

The act of falling over made her notice one last thing about her new appearance: on both sides of her rump were identical marks that reminded her of cattle brands. She recognized the symbol as a wave graph and noted that it appeared to be imprinted on both her fur and the skin beneath it.

The mare shook her head and stood back up. Maybe now wasn’t the ideal time to explore the extent of the changes. She needed to figure out what had happened, stat.

Exploring the building at her slow, hesitant pace revealed she was the only one left here. The guys from the night shift had all but disappeared without a trace. She tried to search the locker room for any possible clue, which showed her that the bags belonging to the guys on the night shift were still there. Either they hadn’t taken them when they left… or they didn’t leave at all.

That evening, the little batpony laid down to sleep on a couch in the rec room, her mind filled with dread and unanswered questions.

Author's Note

Nothing much going on for the crew at that time, but now their numbers swell with one guy being relieved from the infirmary.

Plot wise, that's one chapter to go before I put them into gear for the next arc. I know that one can be qualified as filler but I follow a list of tasks they do in each port and I was never much good at making time skips... which explains how they're only two weeks into the story at the 240 pages mark. I might need to improve on that.

Chapter 19: A Matter of Pride

The next few days passed relatively calmly on Amandine. While the situation downtown appeared to be heating up, with roars becoming increasingly more frequent at night and prints being commonly found in the vicinity of the station; not much else was noticed around the docks. It was assumed by the crew that the animals didn’t dare cross the tunnels to the harbor side of the city.

On the plus side, they eventually managed to finish the works on board two days after the retrieval of the Defenders. The brand new workshop was immediately put to use by shoving their Land Rovers there for modifications. It varied from vehicle to vehicle but generally speaking they stuck to equipping them with roll cages, extra headlights and winches. It wasn’t particularly hard, but retrofitting a fleet of eight 4x4 took time and manpower they’d rather spend elsewhere.

Another extremely reassuring innovation that occurred on board was when Aleksei turned up one day in the Captain’s office in the middle of a meeting with Schmitt and Alejandro to present them his first prototype of gas mask for their SCBA’s. It had taken him some time to make it since he had to figure out ‘one size fits all’ ergonomics and work with fireproof materials, but the conversion kit to retrofit masks to creature standards was finally ready. Admittedly they weren’t perfect: users had to tighten them really hard to avoid their fur (or feathers) causing air to leak out, but they’d rather have a bad mask than none at all. Dilip immediately approved the installation of a 3D printer and molds inside the workshop so that the hippogriff could move on to making more of them before dismissing Aleksei. That was a rather nice turn of events to start the day…

The Captain turned back towards his department heads once the hippogriff left the room.

“Where were we, now?”

“Farkas.” Schmitt stated. The orange scaled (the color came across as odd since it was exactly the same tone as the fabric on the Chief Engineer’s coveralls) female dragon had his arms crossed against his chest and a concerned look on his muzzle.

“Ah yes.” Dilip glanced down at a small pile of papers on his desk. “I’ve been getting some concerning reports about his status, which is odd: whenever I speak with him he sounds just fine. What about you two?”

“Exactly the same on my side but there is one little thing…” Alejandro said, waggling a claw. “We gotta remember the guy never talked much about himself before the change. But even then that was more than now.”

“Hence why I think he’s hiding something from us specifically.” Schmitt said.

Dilip quirked a furry brow at the dragon.

“I don’t mean something physical.” Schmitt quickly corrected himself. “I mean that he hasn’t been as forthcoming about his change as others have been. As the department head for catering, we’ve always worked closely with him. Hell, I’d even call him a friend. My opinion would be that he’s been trying to lick his metaphorical wounds on his own so that we wouldn’t be worried…”

“As retarded as it sounds, it pretty much fits his character.” Alejandro said.

“Not helping, Alej’.” Dilip said. “Any suggestion?”

“Well, talking to him ‘bout it explicitly would be one, obviously. All of us too, when it’s only me asking the questions he just deflects them back to me as usual.” Schmitt shrugged.

A gleam then appeared in the Captain’s eyes.

“I may have an idea. How long has it been since we all had dinner together in my cabin?”

“Dunno. Three weeks to one month, maybe?” Alejandro hesitated.

“Then we got a plan. After lunch I will go see Rahul and ask him to make us dinner in my cabin tonight. Then we can deal with the Farkas issue, does that solution suit you both?” Dilip said.

“Aye.” Both answered.

Dilip wrote down a note to remember to do it before moving on to the next subject. He pulled out a sheet of paper, written by Roberto, on which the cat had written down the position of the most valuable pieces of art in the city. For a couple minutes they went on about planning one expedition to retrieve as much of them as possible so they could maximize their extra credits with the HPI before Alejandro looked at the clock and held up a claw to stop the Captain in his tracks.

“Not that the art pieces aren’t important but I had planned for our newest crewmember to come give us some input on a matter I think needs to be addressed.” He said.

“Corporal De Mesmaeker you mean? The unicorn? What do you need him for?” Dilip asked.

“Simple. I took a look at our ammo supply and while we’re overloaded on regular rounds like 9mm, 5.56 and 7.62; we’re sorely lacking on rarer types like 5.7 and the disintegrating rounds for our 303’s.”

“And how exactly is it important?” Dilip said, one of his ears tilting down.

“Turns out the 303’s are ideal for the more dynamic parts of live-fire training. I talked to Artyom about it and all of the vets agree they’d rather do it with less-lethal rounds than live ammo. As for the 5.7, it’s armor-piercing, which should be useful against monsters. At least we think it should be…” The macaw trailed off.

“And the Corporal would know where to get more.”

“I’m certain he would. We’re in his home country and he’s military; he’d know where the bases are.”

“Fine then.” Dilip shrugged, pushing the notes on the art retrieval expedition aside for later. He wanted to go on that particular expedition himself for a change, maybe with Farkas too. His ears twitched as he heard movement behind the door. “I think our local specialist has arrived. Come on in!” The Captain said.

The doorknob then lit up with a dull green glow before opening slowly. In came the Belgian unicorn, still injured but now mobile. As the door stopped moving, the glow that had been surrounding his horn disappeared.

Turns out unicorns use their horn for telekinesis contrarily to the sphinxes that use… something they had yet to figure out.

Bart’s gait was slow and careful, showing he had yet to become fully accustomed to walking on all fours. Between the moment he had been released from the infirmary a few days earlier and his arrival in this office, someone had adjusted a set of coveralls to fit his small frame. Above the orange clothing, the unicorn still wore his military wool sweater with his ranks on the shoulders. Below the clothing, all sailors were able to see the bandages that protected his neck wound.

The look on his features didn’t match his stance, at all. Unlike the careful and (if Dilip was honest about it) hesitant approach, the Corporal bore a determined no-nonsense look on his muzzle. Said look was a bit unsettling considering it was coming from a dog-sized blue-furred unicorn but Dilip managed to take it in stride.

Geert followed in Bart’s steps, the scarlet macaw coming in on his crutches and immediately sitting down with a weary sigh in one of the seats. Schmitt almost reprimanded the young Officer for taking a seat without being offered one but a quick look from Dilip stopped him. He was injured already, no need to force him to stick to protocol like that.

Bart stopped a few steps short of the Captain’s desk and leveled his large eyes at the dog in the armchair.

“Greetings Captain.” The Belgian’s accent was very thick and his pacing slow but at least it was possible to understand him. “Ik come here voor the briefing.” He hesitated for a few seconds before adding: “Have you questions?”

The words were arranged a bit oddly but at least the unicorn got his point across. Dilip threw a quick glance towards Geert to check if the macaw was ready to do the translation for him. His Fourth Officer noticed and gave a subtle nod before Dilip brought his attention back to Bart.

“Hello to you too, Corporal. I’m pleased to see you out and about. You may take a seat.” The dog said, keeping his pace slow so the Belgian could at least get the gist of what he was saying and pointing an open paw towards a seat next to Geert.

Not needing a translation for that, the unicorn nodded and went to sit down next to the parrot. Once he was seated, Dilip explained the situation to Geert and asked him if the Corporal knew of a place where they could acquire the ammunition they wanted.

Once he got the translation, the unicorn closed his eyes for a second before giving a quick nod.

“It’s possible. If you already took the ammo in Zeebrugge then the closest base would be in the province of Limburg, about 50km east of here in the middle of the countryside. I’m afraid that’s the closest base available since the army sold its barracks in Antwerp; but it should hold a lot of ammo. It’s the biggest military range in the country.” Bart said.

“That makes it a worthwhile target then.” Dilip nodded after Geert repeated it in English. “Corporal, may I ask you to accompany and guide a team there? I won’t require you to do any heavy lifting but my sailors sure could use your guidance.”

Bart was a bit hesitant at leading a bunch of foreigners inside one of the most important bases of his country’s army, but Geert managed to convince him by pointing out they had already taken plenty of material from the navy base in Zeebrugge anyway. Eventually, an agreement was reached that the sailors would only take the ammo and some pieces from the regimental museum Bart wished to take. The rest: vehicles, equipment, data… would be left for other survivors to find. Not much of a problem for Dilip considering they already had most of the gear they needed anyway.

“I’m quite curious as to why you would want to take those museum pieces. Aren’t you navy?”

The unicorn got a surprised look on his face and quickly corrected the Captain.

“Sir I’m afraid you’re mistaken. I’m from the Bevrijding battalion, mechanized infantry. I was on the K9 squadron before my antics got me moved off to guard a navy base.” And boy did that sting when his superiors forced him to sign his transfer order right after demoting him to Corporal. “The base you’re asking me to guide you to is the one I spent most of my career at. I just… don’t want to let my unit be forgotten, even if I’m the only one left after this Apocalypse.”

Maybe he owed the Captain more details about what had caused him to wind up in Zeebrugge. Then again, the Indian didn’t ask for more details and if his experience with Officers was anything to go by, he didn’t want to know.

“My mistake then.” Dilip apologized. “I know how you army folks are with regimental culture so that’s a fair request.” He then stopped to grab a sheet of paper on which he started jotting down notes.

“De Vries.” The Captain said, not looking up. “Expedition’s scheduled for tomorrow morning. I want a team roster and vehicle request no later than three in the afternoon, copy? You and De Mesmaeker are already on the roster, but since you’re both injured that’ll be a complete team in addition to you.”

“Understood sir. Anything else?”

The Captain paused and looked up at Schmitt for a second.

“Yes, come to think of it the guys from engineering have been stuck working on the modifications for a while. Prioritize them on your roster so they get some fresh air. Dismissed.”

The parrot nodded and stood up slowly, grabbing his crutches. He beckoned for Bart to follow and both Dutch-speakers left the office quietly. Dilip then turned to Alejandro.

“So that’s your ammo situation done with Alej’. Satisfied?”

“I’d say.” The hyacinth macaw shrugged. “Can I go with them?” He tried.

“I’m sorry but that’s a flat no.” Dilip said. “I need you to watch the ship while I’m gone tomorrow.”

“Gone where?” Schmitt asked.

“I don’t know if you both have noticed but unlike you I have yet to step off the ship since that whole ordeal begun. Unless I lost count it’s been three months since I last walked ashore.”

“What? Really? Not even in Zeebrugge?” Schmitt asked incredulously.

Dilip shook his head.

“I guess that’s fair then.” Alejandro said, crossing his arms. “Doesn’t mean that I like it but…”

“I’ll break open some Port wine for dinner tonight.” Dilip added with a small crease on the corners of his muzzle.

“Did I say I didn’t like it? I meant… what an excellent idea Captain.” The Spaniard corrected himself.

“Alcoholic…” Schmitt muttered, though he was bad at hiding his smile.

“I’m not alcoholic.” The parrot put a claw against his chest in mock offense, his crest feathers raised. “I just need alcohol to properly function in my day to day tasks.”

Dilip just rolled his eyes. There go his hopes of finishing his expedition planning early.

By all accounts, the dinner with Farkas and the department heads went rather well. The carnivores got a serving of the Angus beef Dilip kept in storage for special occasions while Alejandro was given a plate of vegetarian coconut curry (he was still sulking about not being able to eat the Angus but extra wine managed to raise his spirits). Dilip eating beef might have seemed weird, considering he was Hindu; but the Captain had an admittedly bad track record when it came to following his own religion's traditions (not that the rest of them were any better, really). For the better part of the evening, they exchanged pleasantries and some dark jokes about the recent events and the reaction of certain members of the crew.

By the time Rahul came back to get their empty plates, the group had already discussed much of what they wanted to talk about, including varying opinions about their… commercial partnership (if it could be called that) with the HPI.

“I tell you, those guys may be useful but I wouldn’t trust them as far as I can piss!” Alejandro firmly declared. “You told us yourself Dilip; they spent the better part of their existence as a secret organization. What makes you think they’re not already working things behind our backs?”

“They probably are.” Dilip conceded. “But I don’t see anybody else on the horizon so it’s not like we have much of a choice. I agree we shouldn’t put too much trust into them, but I’m genuinely confident in their willingness to work with us. They have their back against the wall after all.”

“Or so they said.” Farkas countered.

“The facility in France looked like good enough of a proof to me.” Schmitt said. “But yeah, I’ll give that to you Alej’, no underground group like theirs should be fully trusted. Still…” The dragon snapped his claws. “We do need their services as much as they need ours. They’re probably looking into ways to avoid having to rely on us…”

“… So we should do that as well.” Farkas cut him off.

“Exactly!” Schmitt let out a small puff of smoke that drifted out of the cabin’s open window. “Surely we can eventually secure the tools to make the parts ourselves.”

“Parts are one thing, but what do you make of fuel?” Dilip politely put forth.

“Been looking into that actually.” The dragon said. “I’ve got notes on my computer about it, ideas to recycle fuel, manuals on how to man a refinery. I’ll be honest, I’ve never worked for the oil or offshore industry so that will take time but I got one thing out of it for sure.”

“And what would that be?” Dilip asked.

“That we have about six months before fuel stored in shore tanks ‘spoils’, if such a term can be used for oil.”

All occupants of the room turned to stare at the dragon who didn’t seem too concerned about the bombshell he had so casually dropped on the conversation. Schmitt casually served himself a new glass of wine, not looking up at the utterly flabbergasted face of Dilip.

“That’s… extremely important.” Alejandro stated slowly, looking back and forth between the Chief Engineer and the Captain. “How come you seem so unconcerned about the situation?”

“That I want to know indeed.” Farkas added. “Lack of fuel could eventually force us to abandon the ship and the position of strength she gives us. That’s a game changer.”

“Simple.” The orange dragon said. He took a sip of his wine before raising two claws. “One: we got six months before that becomes an actual problem. Two, I already have a bunch of ideas to work on before we reach that deadline.” He waggled his claw a bit to show his hesitation. “I’ll be honest, said plans are just in the early draft stage and I might need more data to put them into action but then again… six months. No worries.”

“That’s a whole lot of talking about the plans without telling us what they’re actually about.” Alejandro said.

“Right, sorry.” The dragon shook his head and took another sip of his glass. “Damn, that wine is really good, where’s it from?” He said, looking at his glass in wonder.

“Vino Nobile di Montepulciano. It’s Italian; I kept the Port for dessert. Back to the subject, please?” Dilip said, tapping a digit on the table impatiently.

“My bad. I get carried away like that sometimes.” Schmitt sheepishly apologized. “Thing is: I got one ‘simple’ project…” The dragon made some air quotes as he said ‘simple’. “… In which we make our own fuel from crude oil found in storage at any petrochemical complex. Disadvantage would be that none of us has a fucking clue how to make a refinery work and it would take a hell of a lot of time to make enough fuel to fill our tanks in their entirety.”

“I can imagine…” Alejandro drawled before Farkas shushed him.

“Idea number two…” Schmitt continued after throwing a glance in Alejandro’s direction. “… Would be to find out ways to recondition the spoiled fuel we find. I suspect it can be done via chemicals but that’s really the solution I’d have to look the most into.”

“Complicated uh?” Farkas said.

“I’d say. Ideally I’d find some ways to upgrade Amandine’s oil filters or make a new filtering station from scratch, maybe even with an entirely mechanical system so we don’t have to find or make the chemicals but…” The Luxembourgian lowered his head. “I haven’t had the time to look into it yet. That idea could go a lot of ways before I’m done with it, and I’ll need some information on petrochemistry, study the effects on different grades of oil and make a detailed report on the filtration and purification standards we will need to avoid damaging the engine. All in all… I got my fair share of work ahead of me.”

“And you think you can manage?” Dilip asked with a raised eyebrow.

“That at least I’m certain of. The only problem would be the time it’ll take to get it done but then again…” He shrugged. “Six months, as I said.”

“That at least is reassuring.” Alejandro conceded before allowing a smile to briefly appear on his beak. “Oil issues aside, have you all heard about that little bet about Vadim and Micha that’s going around the ship?”

For a couple minutes the group fell into casual discussions about the antics of the crew and the growing poll that had been made around the two Eastern European Officers. At this point, even the Captain had to concede he had his own stakes in the poll (and pretty much everyone except for the two griffons had by then). Indeed, it was a sizeable pile of liquor and cigars that would await those that had placed their bets correctly.

Diplomatically, Dilip waited until the Chief Cook brought in the platter cheese that preceded their dessert before finally deciding to rip off the scab, so to speak. He threw a furtive glance towards Schmitt and Alejandro while Farkas was taking a sip of his wine (the sphinx was already on his sixth glass); earning a soft nod from both.

The Captain mustered his courage and let out a polite cough to draw Farkas’ attention. The Greek set down his glass with his telekinesis and raised an eyebrow at the dog. Slowly, Dilip dropped his arms in his lap and leaned back in his seat.

“There is something we have to talk to you about Farkas. All three of us that is.” He began. “These last few days we’ve all been receiving some… concerning reports about your behavior.”

He stopped for a second to give the Chief Steward a chance to respond. He didn’t, so he carried on.

“I’m not saying this as a reprimand because I’m not going to berate you about a few ruffled feathers, no pun intended. We all have a thick skin on this ship anyway… But the changes we have all undergone force me to pay particular concern to my shipmates’ behavior, which is one of the reasons why we’re gathered this evening.”

“Oh, so I’m supposedly a risky member now?” Farkas snapped.

“Let’s see…” Alejandro said. “Evasive, irritable, short-tempered.” He listed, punctuating each word with a tap of his claw on the table. “That’s not the Farkas we know.”

“I second that. So what’s going on with you?” Schmitt asked.

The sphinx frowned and threw a glare at the dragon who met it with a flat stare.

“Farkas, I’m not accusing you of anything wrong.” Schmitt said. “But I’ve seen every member of this crew reach out to another, talk about the situation, if only to relieve the pressure. Every member, except you.”

“I’ve helped with the other gender-bent crewmembers!” Farkas defended himself.

“So have I.” The female dragon stated calmly. “The difference? I had someone to talk to regarding my own issues. I have yet to hear about you doing that.”

“What if I don’t need to talk about it?” The sphinx countered, his ears twitching in irritation.

Schmitt snorted, a small puff of black smoke escaping his nostrils.

“My ass you don’t.” He said, crossing his arms and staring directly in the sphinx’s eyes.

Both of the female crewmembers stared each other down for what felt like a minute. Schmitt’s tail was swishing back and forth behind him while the sphinx on the other side of the table had his ears flattened against his skull. Alejandro gave the Captain an awkward glance before Farkas finally backed down.

“Entáxei, you may be right.” He said, deflating. “Doesn’t change the fact there are better things to do than addressing trivial matters like that.”

“Yeah you say it’s trivial until everybody is so unhinged from stress that the crew tears itself apart.” Alejandro said. “Don’t dismiss mental issues because they’re harder to notice, and most of all don’t dismiss them if it’s about you.”

“As he said.” Dilip nodded towards the Spaniard. “Now, care to tell us what’s been on your mind all this time? Family?”

“I wish it was only that.” He snorted. “I’ll give you that, I do worry about them a bit but my son turned 18 recently and my wife is used to me being absent most of the time. Granted that doesn’t really justify me leaving them in the middle of the Apocalypse but I didn’t get the choice anyway.”

“So what’s actually on your mind?”

“How about you serve us that Port wine of yours, and then I’ll tell you?”

Dilip just rolled his eyes and grabbed the bottle from a cabinet before serving everyone a glass. Farkas swirled the liquid in his glass before taking his first sip and letting out a contented sigh.

“Better?” Dilip asked.

“Yeah, nothing like alcohol to get the words rolling off the tongue.” The sphinx shuffled a bit in his seat, which was a bit small for his large frame despite being the biggest Dilip had available. He had to sit on his haunches in it, which made it look like some sort of stool.

“’bout this problem then…” The sphinx flushed a bit. “It’s err… mostly sexual to be honest.”

Dilip raised an eyebrow but didn’t laugh.

“See, I first thought that maybe to cope with the stress I could do the usual…” He lowered his voice. “Jack off to some porn, and then it’s all better.”

From his seat, Schmitt sent both the Captain and Alejandro a warning glance. Don’t interrupt, the Greek was finally spilling the beans.

“Well, at first I was a bit curious; and honestly, what dude wouldn’t be? Try out the grass on the other side, eh.” He chuckled weakly and stopped to take another sip of his glass. “So once I got the telekinesis figured out, I loaded up some vids from the ship’s server on my laptop. Nothing special, pretty mild girl on girl stuff actually. Getting the… tools was the hardest part but you needn’t know the details.” From the inflection he put on the word, nobody had any doubt what he actually meant by tool. Nor did the Captain want to imagine his Chief Steward like that.

“I’m dreading to hear where it’s going.” Schmitt commented.

“Well I dunno about you Schmitt, but as for me… well apparently I’m heterosexual.”

“So nothing has changed?” Alejandro asked, the blue parrot having a weird look on his beak.

“No Alej’, I meant I’m heterosexual.” The sphinx repeated.

“Oh.” It then dawned to the Chief Officer.

“Also I think I’m a furry.” Farkas added.

Dilip spat out his wine.

Finding the base on the next day was no trouble at all thanks to Bart’s guidance. They had only taken two vehicles for that expedition since they didn’t expect to have to transport too much ammo. That was reason one for them only taking a Defender (a type 130, the very first to come out of the workshop with its modifications completed) and a mog; reason number two was that most of the personnel and vehicles had been requisitioned by the Captain for his art retrieval in downtown Antwerp.

Since they were both injured, Geert and Bart had had to find some crewmembers to accompany them to the base. Angelo had been the first to volunteer. Before Geert even got the chance to ask the Greek if he wanted to come along, the minotaur had practically barged in his cabin to tell him he was coming.

The guy sure liked going on expeditions it seemed…

The minotaur was now sitting in the mog leading their two-vehicle convoy, with one of the Filipinos as the driver. Carlos, the electrician from engineering that had turned into a sulphur-crested cockatoo after the Event. Geert didn’t know him that well beyond the fact that he and Vadim got along relatively well and that he liked fiddling around with electronics (to the point where Alejandro had once had to put his foot down to get the guy to stop messing around with the bridge controls).

The last member of their group was Ajit, an Indian that had turned into a Himalayan sheepdog. The guy was a deck rating and, at 21, one of the youngest members of the crew. He was a relatively friendly guy that Geert might even call a friend. Then again, everyone could claim that title with the cheerful Indian: he always went out of his way to make people feel comfortable and make friends.

Ajit was currently steering the Defender in which both Geert and Bart were seated. The version of the 4x4 they were riding in had a double cab for up to five passenger and a small cargo bay covered by canvas in the back. The interior of the matte silver painted vehicle was rather roomy, which had allowed Geert to fit all the radio equipment they needed on the dashboard.

The route to the base was fairly simple on the first stretches of road. They only needed to exit the city’s grid and take a highway due east following a canal. Much like Angelo had observed on his trip to the HPI facility, the country was completely devoid of human activity. By then, it didn’t really surprise them anymore, though some intelligent life would have been welcome.

Bart had Ajit take the lead of the convoy when they started to approach their destination, pointing a highway exit to the Indian sailor who happily obliged.

The area was a bizarre mix of mining history and more modern investments mixed all together in a haphazard manner: Geert could see the tall heaps of rocks and sediments associated with the mining activity and coal industry that took place there in the 19th century, as well as the abandoned infrastructure that came with these. The heaps, covered in bushes and small trees, towered above newer fancy suburbs and high tech buildings that belonged to a growing tech sector that would never get to achieve its expectations.

Urban planners in this area must have stolen some weed from their Dutch neighbors because not even Bart (who was more familiar with the area) could make sense of how this hodgepodge of dissimilar development was supposed to create a functional community. The Belgian pointed the convoy in a direction and they exited the more developed part of the region to dive even deeper into the countryside.

Flat as Flanders will always be, the area was littered with sand drifts and thin woods that were mostly composed of Mediterranean breeds of pine as well as birches; with the ground being covered with dry grass and small ferns. The area looked utterly out of place in Western Europe with the desert and savanna vibes it somehow managed to give off. Angelo even let out a comment about it on the radio, uncertain as to how they could find an area like that at this latitude.

“It’s normal for the area.” Bart explained. “That’s also the reason why they put the base there. The soil is very poor and there are next to no minerals underground so nobody wanted it. Best place to put a base for the army then. And the sand…” The unicorn sighed wistfully “… I remember the sheer amount of foxholes I had to dig in that ground during my career for the sake of training, all the way from basic training to last year.” The unicorn looked up at the road ahead of them. “Take next left.” He said in English.

The two vehicles came out of the woods to face one last stretch of five hundred meters of exposed roads before reaching a tall fenced compound. The base.

Stopping their convoy in front of the guard post, Bart and Geert quickly dismounted to go open the fence. Behind them in the mog, Angelo opened the ceiling hatch of the cabin and took control of the machinegun in case anything popped up.

Both of the Dutch speakers were still very much injured, but they had enough mobility between the two of them to get to the guard post, only slowed down by Geert hobbling about on his crutches. Coming up to a panel next to the guard post, Bart used his telekinesis to open a pouch on his flak jacket (which, in his case, was really just a converted set of K9 armor) and flash his military ID against an exposed scanner. The gate in the fence slid open with a soft whirr.

“Much as I loathe ecologists for being pompous twats, I gotta give it to them that having a large amount of green energy powering the country can be useful during a doomsday event.” The unicorn commented, trotting back to their truck.

“What? You mean they don’t even leave the military be in this country?”

“Nah, they loved to pester High Command about the silliest shit. Worst of all being measures against pollution caused by K9 units.”

“You’re shitting me.” Geert said incredulously.

“I wish.” The unicorn opened his door and crawled back inside the Defender. “Get in; I wanna have time to explore the regimental museum after we get the ammo.”

With the Belgian’s help, getting the mog loaded with crates of ammo wasn’t too hard. If anything, getting to the bunkers where they were stored was the hardest part in the whole thing since they were built in a fenced off part of the compound, but even that problem was made nonexistent by their bit of ‘insider knowledge’. Soon enough, Bart had the now loaded convoy follow directions towards the location of the museum. The mog was now considerably slower because of the tens of thousands of rounds it had loaded in its cargo bay (and that had better last them for a while).

They dismounted once again in front of a nondescript brick building next to the main entrance of the base. Only a small plaque next to the door told of its purpose, indicating the museum was more of a converted warehouse rather than a fully fledged dedicated building.

They left Ajit and Carlos with the vehicles, Angelo deciding to come inside with them. The interior of the museum was nothing particularly grand, having been made more with the intent of being visited by military personnel than civilians. Trophies and medals belonging to the different units attached to the base were showcased all over the place, some dating back to the late 1800’s. Behind the two Dutch-speakers, Angelo whistled in awe.

“Damn, you guys had quite the hoarding streak going on didn’t you?” He commented, looking at a glass casing containing memories of campaigns fought long ago.

Bart didn’t answer the minotaur, instead making a beeline towards the back of the museum where the regimental colors were stored for later use in parades. The blue-furred unicorn stopped to stare at his flag, a forlorn look on his muzzle.

“You miss them?” Bart asked, coming up behind the stallion.

“I’m 46 De Vries. For my entire career I’ve been in the military, always with the same unit, I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t grown attached.” He shook his head. “What I did before the Event occurred, I’m not proud of and they were justified to send me guard a navy base to cool off. But I’m still one of them and the memory’s got to live on.”

With that he gently grabbed the flag in his telekinesis and folded it before tucking it in a pouch on the back of his K9 armor. The unicorn brought out a small letter he had written to explain what had happened to the flag in case survivors came here after them and placed it in plain sight. He then turned his head towards the Dutch parrot with a small smile on his muzzle.

“Now that’s dealt with let me show you some little collection we were quite proud of.” He quickly switched to English. “Angelo, come please. Iets interesting here.” He called the minotaur.

The Corporal led both sailors to an enclosed part of the museum, which he opened by quickly typing a code on a digital pad. Once he pushed the door open, both Geert and Angelo’s jaw (or lower mandible in Geert’s case) hit the floor.

The room was decorated with antique weapons, as well as more modern ones from basically every country the unit had ever visited. Alongside the weapons were headgear, caps and berets from an even more impressive amount of countries, some even going as far as Asia. But the most impressive item in the room wasn’t actually a gun or a cap: it was a sword.

Or saber, rather. The thing was a fairly short navy-style saber, lavishly decorated with engravings all over. Its scabbard was carved out of ivory and had its pieces held in place by bits of silver. The most notable feature about it was the very large pink diamond on its pommel, held in place by a carved silver hand that was grasping it tightly.

“Trophies?”

“Ja” Bart nodded. “Some honest.” He hesitated. “Some err… gestolen. Or won in bets.”

Geert decided not to question it too much and instead calmly approached the sabre.

“Bart what is this thing?” He was getting some odd vibes from the item.

“The Congo Sword is what we call it, though some of the more politically inclined personnel on the base liked to call it the ‘Hearth of Darkness’. Back in the time of Leopold II’s reign, it used to belong to the Administrator-General of the Congo Free State before the whole humanitarian incident came to light. The guy had it made with local materials he taxed off of concessions. The thing is, the sword was lost for years when the guy went to prison for what he did. Some paracommandos found it in Stanleyville during operation Red Dragon in ’64 after the whole decolonization, civil war and hostage situation took place.”

“Hold on, I thought this base was for infantry, not paratroopers.”

“It is. The paras didn’t say shit to the government about finding the sword. It’s just too politically charged, they would have ordered it to be destroyed. So they put it in their museum.”

“And your colleagues stole it?” Geert asked, kneeling in front of the sword’s case to observe it more closely. Looking at the gem in the pommel gave him a slight feeling of dread deep in his gut.

“Won it in a fair challenge during a drill in West Germany.” Bart corrected him. “I say, it’d be a shame to just leave it there to rust.” He waved a hoof around. “This room of the museum is kind of a secret, almost nobody knows about it except for the highest ranking officers and the Old Guard like me.”

So that’s how they wound up taking the sword from its case. The weapon found its way secured on the back of Bart’s flak jacket, the unicorn showing great care in handling this kernel of his country’s history, bad as it may be.

The unicorn went to leave before stopping upon taking a look at the berets in the room. As an afterthought, he grabbed a brown beret with the markings of his unit to replace his former which had been forever stained by blood.

“Say Geert, what nations are the vets on the ship from?”

“One is ex-VDV, one from the Bulgarian army and the last one from the Indonesian navy. Why? Are those in this collection?”

Two berets, one blue, the other red found their way inside the unicorn’s flak jacket.

“Nothing for Indonesia but they might appreciate the gift as a token of goodwill.” Bart said before leaving the room.

Soon after that, the two vehicles in the convoy drove back towards Antwerp, their task accomplished.

“You know, nobody would ever expect the Belgians to have that kind of skeletons hiding in their closet.” Geert commented once they were in their truck.

“Wanna talk about Indonesia uh, Dutchie?”

“Fuck off.”

“Ever stopped to think about the development of arts Farkas? How generations of artists built up their work on the shoulders of their masters to reach increasing levels of skill? Doesn’t that make you marvel at those paintings?” Dilip said.

“Sounds like you’re just trying to avoid thinking about what was said yesterday.”

“That too.” The dog shook his head. He had in no way expected to wind up seeing his Chief Steward in such a manner. “Doesn’t put a halt to my appreciation of fine arts though.”

They were inside of a museum in Antwerp. Rubens’ house to be exact, which led to Dilip now standing in front of that same artist’s self-portrait. The dog was still clad in his usual mix of a pilot shirt and cargo shorts, but this time he had added a flak jacket to the mix. His .38 revolver was strapped to his hip, as well as a holstered bayonet. Beyond that, the Captain relied on his crew to do the fighting.

After all, a proper Officer shouldn’t get caught fighting. That’s what he had his retinue of shipmates for.

Just behind him was Farkas, the sphinx having agreed to come along on Dilip’s ‘artful’ outing. The sphinx did have a rifle along, but he was rather lacking in the field of accuracy because he couldn’t sight his rifle properly while holding it in his telekinesis. They were the only two currently inside the building, the rest of their companions being busy outside loading paintings on their trucks. They had taken two refrigerated containers with atmospheric control in order to preserve the paintings as best as they could, but said controls had yet to be set to the proper values.

“So you’re not gonna say anything about yesterday’s dinner?” Farkas asked.

“For fuck sake, my Chief Steward’s sexuality is not something I ever wished to delve into.” Dilip cried out in exasperation. “For all I care you go jack off to Simba in the goddamn Lion King and I’d still be able to look you in the eyes.” He noted a gleam in the sphinx’s eyes. “Please don’t tell me you’re going to try.”

“Totally am.”

The dog let out a tired whine, ears drooping much to Farkas’ amusement.

They were interrupted by Artyom walking in with a folder held in his claws. The blue dragon didn’t appear to have overheard what they were talking about (thank God for small mercies) and just went to give the folder to Dilip.

“Storage parameters for the paintings. Better scan them once we’re back and archive the documents. I already set up the containers to the prescribed humidity and temperature so…” He nodded his head towards the self-portrait. “… We just have to load that last one then it’s on to the next museum.”

“Excellent. You may proceed.” The Captain told the Boatswain before turning away from the painting. “Where is our next target again?” He asked Farkas.

“Close to the Jewish district. Modern art gallery I think.”

“Not something I have much appreciation for then.” The Captain snorted. “Still, we do get paid by the HPI so that’s still worth it.”

“There’s a bit of a hick though…”

Dilip raised an eyebrow and motioned with his paw for the sphinx to continue.

“The Jewish district is basically next to the Central Station.”

“And by association the zoo. Great, now we finally get to tackle that issue.” Dilip drawled as he slowly made his way out of the museum, Farkas trailing behind him and Artyom further behind. The dragon cradled the self-portrait as if it were a newborn.

The three sailors came out of the building to face a column of four vehicles. Two of their hooklift trucks (each of them carrying a refrigerated container) were directly in front of them. They had already hit a couple places earlier that day so they were starting to fill them up nicely.

Two unimogs covered the front and back of the column, ready to tackle any critter or monster that could possibly turn up within the boundaries of the city. If anything threatened the shipmates of the sailors manning the machineguns on the trucks, it would be met with a hail of supersonic lead.

Artyom stowed the last painting and walked back to the rear mog to take his place at the wheel while Farkas and Dilip made their way to the front of the convoy. The Captain bade his goodbyes to the ornate Renaissance building of the museum before getting into his truck and ordering the driver to steer them towards their next objective.

Keeping a sedate pace to avoid getting into an accident in the narrow paved streets, the convoy moved on East towards the station. Wary of the roars they had heard coming from the area, every sailor in the group kept his head on a swivel, eyes looking everywhere for the tiniest hint of movement. Despite their wariness, the city remained still, which only served to increase the tension as they drove ever closer to the zoo.

Minutes later the convoy reached the large, open square next to the Central Station. The bus and tram terminals that bordered it were devoid of any activity, the fountains that enshrined the outskirts of the station dry and the normally bustling heart of the city… dead.

The station’s building was a mix of late 19th century French architecture at its base, with pale brown stonework framing large windows; before it rose at the top in a cupola of riveted steel beams and small glass panels covering the quays that would make a Steampunk fan drool. Dilip was almost tempted to step off his truck to take a closer look.

Almost.

On one end of the square they could see both the main threat to their expedition as well as their goal: the entrance booths to the zoo, marked by two large bronze eagle statues; and a few dozen meters next to them was the street leading to the Jewish quarter. They could even spot the bulbous tower of the synagogue from their end of the square.

Bad thing was, they could clearly see the gates to the zoo had been busted open.

“Sir, do we go on and hope the animals vacated the zoo?” The parrot driving Dilip’s truck asked.

“Not exactly. I got a plan.” He said before grabbing a walkie-talkie on the dashboard. “Captain to rear mog, do you hear me? Over.” He asked.

“Loud and clear Captain, what’s the matter? Over.” Artyom answered.

“I need you to move your truck so you can cover the zoo entrance with your machinegun. I want to close those gates, keep what’s still inside there for what it’s worth. Over.”

The Russian answered with a curt ‘roger over’ before his truck rumbled slowly to the front of the convoy, coming to a halt next to Dilip’s.

“Okay, now to find a volunteer to close those gates…” Dilip mused.

“I will.” Farkas said immediately, surprising the Captain.

“You don’t have to. I wasn’t asking you in particular.”

“Too late, ‘was gonna volunteer anyway.” The sphinx said, not allowing the Captain to answer before he stepped off the vehicle. In passing he grabbed a spare walkie-talkie from the dashboard in his telekinesis and plugged it to an earpiece which went in his large ear.

“Farkas, are you absolutely certain you want to do that? It’s still risky. Over.” The Captain said over the comms.

“Relax, I can close the gates from further way than any of you could with my telekinesis. Out.” Farkas said, walking in the direction of the ticket booths.

Behind him he could see that both unimogs had their guns manned and ready to provide him with some cover fire if any predator turned up. Not the slightest bit worried, the female sphinx padded over to the gates.

Around him he could see more details of the station square and the zoo entrance. There were a couple metro entrances here and there, as well as vehicle ramps leading to parking spaces underneath the station. A gentle breeze pushed a crumpled newspaper past him, the piece of garbage coming from a tipped over trashcan next to a metro entrance.

The imposing bronze statues marking the zoo’s entrance had been built over the ticket booths. A large brass plate fitted over the fences proudly displayed the words ‘Dierentuin/Jardin zoologique’, the material shining brightly in the afternoon sun.

Farkas slowly peaked inside the gates, curious to see whether there was any activity inside but there was little he could make out: vegetation that hid the pens from sight. Smart gardening, you can’t see the animals without getting further inside and buying a ticket. There was a large shape lying prone in the shade of a tree just a little bit closer…

Despite Dilip’s insistent warnings on the radio, the sphinx still crept closer to take a look. The shape was actually the mangled corpse of a bear, half of the flash on its flank ripped off and eaten already. The body was in the middle of a puddle of dry blood, with bloody paw prints leading both in and out of the zoo.

“Farkas get out of there now! It’s too dangerous!” Dilip was ordering in the radio, forgoing usual communications procedures.

The Chief Steward was about to acknowledge the Captain’s order and move back to close the gate when a white blur burst out screaming from the trees, bounced off his back and ran away faster than he could track it. Three more blurs followed the same way, running a short distance before clambering onto a building and onto the rooftops, disappearing from view.

“Uh.” Farkas sniffed. “Guess they had lemurs too.” He commented on the radio, looking in the direction the monkeys had run off to.

“And if you’ll look behind you, you’ll see the reason that got them running like that. Over.” Artyom drawled over the radio.

Farkas’ blood froze over as he slowly turned his head back towards the zoo. A deep rumbling sound came from the trees as a pride of about eight lions rounded a corner and came into sight. They were led by one very large male with a black mane at the front, the females forming a loose circle around two cubs in the middle of the formation.

The task of closing the gates forgotten, Farkas slowly backed out towards the trucks. The lions had clearly spotted him (his orange coveralls didn’t help) and had altered their path towards him.

Farkas was halfway to the trucks when another rumble came from a metro entrance just behind him, followed shortly by the sound of cackling laughter.

“Oh for the love of God…” He muttered.

Out of the metro crawled a large monstrous creature. It was easily larger than a buffalo, with the front body of a saber-toothed tiger, the rear half of a giant goat whose head protruded out of its back at a sickening angle; and finally the tail of the creature was actually the body of a very large serpent. All three heads were looking at the Greek sphinx maliciously, with the serpent licking its lips hungrily and the goat cackling madly.

Talk about being stuck between a rock and a hard place.

“Bad news Farkas, you’re in the way. We can’t fire our guns without risking hitting you as well.Try to step aside if you can. Over.” Artyom told the sphinx through his earpiece, the ex-VDV’s voice oddly calm despite the imminent danger.

Absolutely fantastic then. Farkas looked back to the pride of lions to see the male growling at two females who grabbed the cubs by the scruff of their neck and quickly left the area through a side street. The lion gave a satisfied growl before turning its attention back to the sphinx and the (Farkas decided to call it that because it matched mythological descriptions) chimera.

Farkas discreetly tried to slip away but all creatures on the square had their entire attention focused on him. The snake on the chimera’s tail spotted the trucks behind it and whispered something to the other heads. With a sadistic smile on its three muzzles, the chimera silently interposed itself between the Chief Steward and the trucks.

“Going somewhere, tasty kitty kitty?” The tiger head spoke up in a garbled feminine voice. Every time a word left the monster’s mouth its head was rocked by a tick.

“But it’s not sssssafe.” The serpent head said, talking as if it was halfway through downing an entire barrel of booze.

The goat head just cackled madly, tongue lolling out of its mouth and sending spittle flying on the tiger’s back, which caused it to snap its jaws at the goat in annoyance. The sharp movement allowed Farkas to notice a glowing sigil burned in the creature’s flesh, right behind the tiger’s ear.

“Kiiittens like you s-sh-should stay with their pride.” The serpent stuttered, eliciting a dumb nod from the goat head.

The chimera slowly started advancing on the Greek who subconsciously found himself backing away from the large monster. Off in the distance he could see the gunners on the trucks tracking the monster’s movements, ready to open fire whenever they got a clear shot.

Pity the monster seemed to be conscious of that as well. How come it was so intelligent when the others they had encountered before were mere animals? That couldn’t even talk?

Farkas accidentally bumped into something warm as he backed away. He didn’t need to turn around on his four legs to figure out it was one of the lions: the breathing that rustled his mane told him enough. The sphinx clinched his jaw, nerves on the verge of breaking.

“Ssssssee? Kitty-kitty with pride now. Good?” The serpent hissed. “Kitty isssss good meal, very tasssty, but meal better with more kitties, no?”

Maybe it was because he kinda looked like a lion, maybe it was his smell, he had no idea exactly why but the male lion he accidentally backed into didn’t seem to take umbrage at the collision. Out of the corner of his eyes Farkas saw the lion slink around his side and come up right beside him, brushing his mane against his flank and sending thrills in his wings under his clothes. He wanted to keep his attention entirely on the chimera but the big cat wasn’t making it easy. Thankfully, the chimera had stopped its approach upon seeing the lion step up, with the lionesses fanning out on its flanks. Having a lion so close was making Farkas particularly nervous, especially when he noticed how much bigger than him it was.

The lion let out an inquisitive purr at the sphinx before leaning in to sniff his mane. Farkas instinctively jumped to the side; worried it was now attacking him but the big cat only stared. It padded over to him once again and straight up licked him in the face.

Right then the Greek was pretty sure he heard Artyom burst out laughing on the radio, despite the tension of the situation.

Farkas backed away once more from the lion, tail tucked between his legs and ears pressed against his head. The lion made to approach once again before Farkas flicked his head towards the chimera.

Get the poontang out of your mind Simba, there is a monster in front of you.

The lionesses didn’t seem to like the male’s behavior either, as they were now glaring jealously at the sphinx.

Thankfully the horny male seemed to catch his drift, immediately turning on his paws to roar defiantly at the snarling chimera in front of them.

Which might not have been the best of ideas. The chimera, previously held at bay by the lionesses threatening it, reacted badly to the challenge and lunged at the male, its goat head cackling gleefully. The lion and Farkas managed to jump to the side and dodge the attack, the motion making the sphinx’s old wounds ache.

“Kittens think they strong? Kittens wrong!” The tiger head yelled, batting an attacking lioness away with its paw while the serpent head snapped at another that was trying to sneak in an attack on its rear.

What followed, Farkas wasn’t too sure of. He later remembered grabbing a bayonet from a holster on his jacket in his telekinesis and throwing it directly at the tiger head of the chimera. By chance, the weapon lodged itself in its eye making the monster scream out in pain. By then, the sphinx was overcome by his instincts and charged head on into the fight, past the line of lionesses circling the chimera.

In one big jump, Farkas cleared the distance separating him from the monster and, trusting his instincts, let out what felt like the mother of all burps. A plume of yellow gas left his mouth and covered the chimera completely. He saw its muscles lock up immediately upon contact with the gas, paralyzing it instantly.

Uncaring of what happened to the chimera, the pride or even his forgotten bayonet, the sphinx sprinted towards the trucks as fast as he could. He jumped in the cargo bay of one of the unimogs, not caring whether it was his or not. The sailors in the convoy didn’t need to be given the order before gunning it and driving away from the square, back to the ship.

Behind them, the lionesses were mercilessly ripping apart the paralyzed chimera which couldn’t even scream in pain. The male lion wasn’t taking part in the assault, instead staring wistfully in the direction the convoy had left. In its mouth, it held a bloody bayonet.

Three days earlier.

The past few days had been… weird to say the least. She had quickly noticed she was utterly, completely alone, not only in the building, but in the city as well. Soon after waking up after the fateful evening when she had discovered the changes she had undergone; the mare had tried to explore the area and call out for help in the neighborhood.

Bad idea.

She had barely managed to escape death at the jaws of some kind of dogs made out of wood. Only by discovering a new ingrained defense mechanism did she manage to lose the dogs and run back to the building. Turns out, she had been granted instincts that made her scream out sonic attacks whenever she felt threatened. Neat… but puzzling.

She was starting to catch on to some of the more subtle changes that came with her transformation. There might even be an underlying theme in there she had thought once back inside the building: sensitive hearing, night vision, ability to hear radio waves (she had tested with some of the periodic signals the building sent out, MF was rather easy to hear from afar and, if she focused, she could even hear VHF signals most of the time) and the sonic attack. She had yet to try it out but she was pretty sure she could achieve echolocation in the long run.

If she lived that long that is.

The wooden dogs were one thing, but then had come the matter of food. Most of what had been left in the fridge in the rec room was already spoiled, and she only managed to salvage some biscuits and snacks out of a few cabinets (which had been extremely hard to open with only hooves). Those had lasted her a day at best, but now she needed more.

There was a gas station close by, but it was too exposed and directly in the path of the dogs. No good then, and she didn’t want to survive on junk food anyway.

Looking through the offices yielded her a map of the area published by the municipality highlighting local shops and businesses. There was a supermarket just a kilometer away from where she was.

With great difficulty, she managed to shove the map into a small sized backpack she put on her back. She had already memorized a route that had her pass through ‘safe’ areas where she was less likely to be spotted. She would come back to the building afterwards of course: it had power, running water and a fenced perimeter. Nothing to scoff at.

Her route had her sneak out of the back of the building’s grounds and into a park. Her small size allowed her to sneak around through the shrubs and hedge easily, and using her sensitive hearing made it easy to bypass threats. In as little as an hour she had gone from the park through some posh suburbs and finally to her goal where she packed as much food as she could.

Most of the fresh aisles in the supermarket were now turned into literal fly nests, but canned and dry food was very much good to go. Her small backpack didn’t fit much content, but hopefully it would last her long enough to achieve her long term plan.

She made a point of taking a can opener before leaving. One she could operate with her mouth since her hooves were no good.

Once back to the building, she cooked herself a can of baked beans using the rec room’s microwave. She had other sorts of food available but, having no idea what exactly her new form was able to eat yet, she took the safe option. Her eating wasn’t exactly what she’d call dignified but at least she got some food in her stomach.

Now that her situation was more or less stabilized, she could get on with the fun part. The building she was in wasn’t just a regular building that happened to have a few radio antennas on top, no.

It was actually the control point of the Danish coast radio stations, and it operated on all frequencies except HF.

The little purple mare trotted inside the control room where the workstations to manage radio communications were installed. Her mind was already flashing with radio procedures and range estimations. She could try satellite comms, but radio would have to go first.

The batpony took her usual position in a cubicle on the far side of the room, her small stature forcing her to climb on the chair and sit on her haunches. A picture of her former human self cradling her baby sister with her mother behind them was attached to a side of the cubicle. She stopped to look at it for a couple seconds, the hints of tears in her eyes before she shook off the sadness. No time for that just yet.

She didn’t expect to be able to manipulate the controls using her hooves, but she had an inkling of an idea she wanted to try out. The digits in her wings might be able to do what her hooves couldn’t.

She concentrated and tried to move the wings a bit.

The appendages twitched pitifully on her back.

Then again, she didn’t expect to achieve it in only one day.

Author's Note

Bit of a frustrating chapter to write since I wanted to finish the Antwerp arc this week and wound up having to cram the last outboard expeditions in there, but now I can get the plot moving towards different waters.

Chapter 20: Casting Off

“I’m sorry what?”

“I said get your ass to the bridge! Something big is happening and I need all my Deck Officers right now.” Alejandro yelled in the interphone before hanging up.

Micha stared at the interphone held in his talons for a few seconds before shrugging and putting it back in place on the wall. He was inside the armory doing some cleaning on his hunting rifle after having spent most of the day on the range to set up its scope; but apparently his superior had more pressing matters for him at the moment.

The griffon put the rifle back in its case before stowing it in its specified place inside the armory. On a clipboard attached to the cage in which his gun was stored, he wrote down the time at which he put back the rifle, signing with his name and specifying the gun still needed to be cleaned before closing down the armory. No one else beside him had been there at the time, what with him having been the only one on the range that day. Everyone else had other things to do.

The Pole quickly crossed the entire length of the ship back to the bridge. As he walked through the passageways along the car decks, he noticed the Captain’s expedition was finally back… as well as the guys from the guard post at the terminal entrance who immediately proceeded to raise the ramp once they were in. Micha didn’t stop to ask them what was going on, accelerating his pace towards the bridge.

Geert and Angelo’s group had returned earlier in the afternoon from their trip to the military base, and they had already stowed and lashed their vehicles at their designed parking spaces in the lower decks.

The decks inside the accommodation were a hive of activity with sailors from both the deck and engineering departments running this way and that, carrying gear and sometimes stopping to secure a loose piece of equipment as if they were about to leave port.

Micha already had an inkling of an idea as to what was going on.

On the bridge, he found Alejandro and Dilip in heated debate by the radio station while Geert and Vadim were in the back next to the chart table looking over documents. All four Officers raised their heads when the female griffon came in.

“Ah finally Micha. We’ve got some great news. Guess what happened just before the Captain came back?” Alejandro asked.

“Dunno.” The Pole tilted his head. “Judging by the amount of activity down below it seems we’re about to depart.”

“Exactly!” The Spaniard cried out. “I was keeping watch as planned when the radio finally picked up something on the MF waves.”

“Distress call?”

“Standardized pattern using DSC calls to transmit. Few details in the message but we got a MMSI number out of it.” Dilip continued in Alejandro’s stead. “It’s a coast radio station, which we have identified as that of Lyngby.”

“I don’t know them by heart but if it’s MF it can’t possibly be that far…”

“Denmark. In a municipality close to Copenhagen apparently.” Alejandro explained. “Vadim and Geert over here are already drafting a passage plan to get us there.” He added, pointing to their two youngest Officers next to the chart table.

“That’s nice and all but has the radio station had any activity in the meantime?”

“Nope.” The parrot shook his head. “But I wouldn’t get caught up on that. It’s highly likely whoever sent the message had difficulties doing it. If it’s a case like Bart or Farkas where they don’t have hands I wouldn’t expect them to master the controls that well.”

“So?”

“I acknowledged the message.” Dilip stated. “The operator on the other side should receive a notice of acknowledgment with our own MMSI. Since it’s a coast station they should have a register of Inmarsat numbers to send us a written message via satellite if they can’t manage an audio call by radio. We have a constant watch over our own station so I don’t expect we will miss any call from Lyngby.”

“Then I suppose we’re going as soon as we can get the ship ready. Which port are we aiming for exactly?” Micha asked.

“Copenhagen.” Vadim piped in from the back of the room. “I already got a container terminal in sight. Nice depth and it’s L shaped so we can use our stern ramp to discharge lorries and long trailers.” The griffon said, tapping a talon against a waypoint on his charts.

“How far does it put us from the station?” Dilip asked.

The Ukrainian looked down at his chart and compared it to a road map. A cross on the map next to a pond marked the radio station in a town on the outskirts of the Danish capital city. He picked up some brass dividers and measured the distance.

“’bout 10 kilometers, give or take.” Vadim said, waggling his claw in a so-so gesture. “Reaching the port itself might take time though: it’s the whole way around the Danish peninsula, halfway through the Öresund strait. I’m still doing an estimation of the total steaming time but at worst it should take us two days if we stick to economic speed.”

The Captain stared off in the distance deep in thought. They did receive a distress call, with the usual implied urgency. The radio operator could be in danger because of monsters… or it could be that he simply panicked because of the Event and resorted to the simplest method in order to contact anyone in the vicinity. Making a quick distress call like that only involved pressing The Big Red Button™ after all.

“How far is Lyngby by road?”

“About 900km sir.” Geert answered.

Too far. Way too far to send a ground team. With the nuclear plants at stake he might have been willing to send a small team on a trip, but back then they had just been two to three hours away. Sending out a team three times as far? With monsters roaming about? They had canvas covered trucks, not tanks. That settled it then…

“Zinoviya?” The dog asked.

“Yes sir?” Vadim answered.

“You prepare the port entry into Copenhagen. Usual procedures and safety margins except for sandbanks. Keep a distance of at least three cables from the 10 meters depth line around them.” The Indian then turned to Micha. “Prezmo, you did the entry into Antwerp, care to make us an exit plan?”

“Deep draught channels or regulars?”

“Deep draught. Alejandro, remind me to modify that in my standing orders, I’d rather we stay on the safe side all the time.” He told his Chief Officer over his shoulder. “Now, De Vries, you do the passage planning from the exit point in Antwerp to wherever Vadim chooses to begin his entry procedure into Copenhagen, got it?” The parrot nodded. “Beyond the usual remarks, we’re passing the Dutch coast so I expect a lot of small sized sandbanks. Keep a safety distance of six cables from them while we’re in transit. Also…” The dog tapped the side of his muzzle with a paw in thought. “Try to make us pass in VHF range of as many platforms as possible if that doesn’t delay us too much, they might have survivors on board for all we know. Now…” The dog clapped his paws. “I need to talk to Schmitt about getting the engine ready for departure. Alej’, I trust you can manage checking if everything in the holds is secure for sea? “

“Aye, will do.”

With that the Captain left the bridge, leaving his deck Officers to the task of charting their new route to the next port. Alejandro pulled out his notebook and jotted down a few things in it.

“Geert?” He asked.

“Yes?” The other parrot perked up; looking up from the chart catalog he was checking out.

“I know the ocean passage shouldn’t take as much time as the port entries. Try and help the others by inputting the parallel indexes into the radar’s computer.” The hyacinth macaw looked up to the ceiling for a second. “No need to use any for the ocean passage obviously.”

Geert nodded once to acknowledge the order before going back to writing down which charts he would need to prepare for the passage. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted the shorter parrot put his notebook back in his pocket before walking down the stairs back towards the car decks. Technically, he didn’t need to start off with the paper charts and he would do just as well by planning a passage on the electronic charts using the ECDIS; but he was always more comfortable choosing his waypoints on paper. It mostly came down to the ease with which he could adjust each segment of a passage; which wasn’t as quick on the computer due to the somewhat clunky UI.

The scarlet macaw brushed a talon through his multicolored crest of feathers, following the path he had traced on the catalogue with another.

Starting off in the Scheldt estuary, he could take the northbound passage of Oostgat just by Vlissingen but… Nope, too close to sandbanks, and too narrow. He sure would have wished to pass closer to the town he used to live in, but it wasn’t a decision he could justify in front of the Captain. With a sigh, he erased that path and instead traced one that sent them West through the Scheur’s deep draught channel in front of Zeebrugge. That one had been made for intercontinental container carriers and ought to be much safer.

The path deviated a bit but it sent them in radio range of the Thames forts (which, if he remembered correctly, housed radio relays back to the Thames’ and London’s port control) and offshore wind turbines and had them follow the traffic lanes out of the English Channel towards the Rotterdam-Hamburg axis.

They would pass a couple gas platforms near Rotterdam and off the isle of Texel in the Netherlands but that was about it when it came to offshore installations. There were some wind turbines in the German EEZ further North but those were much less likely to have been manned at the time of the Event. No use to pass in range of those then, so he had their route sail a course directly from Texel to the tip of the Danish peninsula via one of the traffic lanes which ended just short of the fjord that lead into the port of Oslo.

A nudge on his hip stopped him for a moment. It was Vadim; the griffon was looking up expectantly at the tall parrot.

“You going to print the new charts yet?” He asked.

Geert threw a glance at his notes. He already had an idea of which charts he would use up to the point where they passed the Swedish port of Gothenburg. And the next one… was probably the exact same one Vadim would use for his port entry.

“Still need to check out if we don’t have copies already printed in the chart room.”

“Well while you’re at it can you print those for me?” The Ukrainian said, giving him a sheet of paper with his requested charts’ ID numbers on it. “I’m going to start off with the electronics charts. You can have the chartroom to yourself to work on your passage.”

Geert raised an eyebrow at Vadim. The guy was throwing some not too subtle glances towards Micha.

Oh, alright then.

“Ok, come get your charts in half an hour. I should have them out and ready by then.” The parrot said, slipping away on his crutches, the chart catalog held under one arm.

Vadim followed the departing parrot with his piercing yellow-green eyes. Once Geert had left the bridge, the grey falcon griffon allowed himself to sag a bit.

By then, Micha had sat down in the navigator’s chair and was checking out a tide table to calculate how he would go about his maneuver to get Amandine out of the Scheldt. The table he was looking at showed hourly drawings of the river with current vectors all over.

“Hey Micha. Barely saw you today, how was your day?”

“Good I guess? I spent most of the time I wasn’t on watch on the range.” The bald eagle griffon answered, not looking up from the drawings.

Vadim caught himself staring at the other griffon’s rump, the way Micha was sitting on his haunches in the chair made it make a nice smooth curve with the small of his back, the nomex clad wildcat tail of his feline half only serving to enhance the effect… The Ukrainian shook his head. Bad brain! No hitting on your best friend! He’s a dude for fuck sake!

Then again, that rump wasn’t exactly screaming ‘dude’ at him.

“Got some good shooting done then?” Vadim hastily asked.

“More or less. The backup iron sights under the scope are set so most of that time was spent ranging the scope and writing it down for each distance. It’s a bit tedious to be honest, but I like shooting so no big deal.” The Pole shrugged. “How was yours?”

“Gave some medical lessons to Boris. He seems to take it in pretty easily, and I also discovered something about griffons with him. Surprised I didn’t notice earlier actually.”

The other griffon looked up from the drawings at that.

“Oh really? Is it important?”

“I’d say. Did you notice we actually have two hearts?”

“Come again?”

“Yeah I was pretty surprised too. It’s Boris that pointed out the oddity and we spent half the afternoon verifying it. They don’t necessarily beat at the same rate; we have one in the middle of the chest just behind the sternum…” The griffon said, tapping a talon against his chest. “…And another just between our wings in the middle of our back.” He added, stretching his claw to point between his wings.

“That’s… unique I guess?” The Pole said, brushing a claw between his wings to check it out. He did feel a strong beat right there, the area being one of the warmest on griffons.

“Best guess I can give you is that the second heart is for flying… probably.” Vadim shrugged. “Probably makes us resistant to cardiac arrests too, but I’m no expert on the matter.”

Micha nodded absentmindedly. Quickly turning back to take a look at his drawings and jot down some notes. The ship was moored bow first in the terminal, which meant he would have to back out and turn Amandine around against the current or be forced to go down the Scheldt backwards. As enticing as that prospect sounded, he doubted Dilip would be too pleased if he tried it.

“You know. I can’t help but think back to the two silhouettes I saw jumping off the container stacks. I don’t suppose Boris and you would know anything about them, uh?” Micha said quietly.

The Ukrainian gave an awkward laugh and sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck.

“We err… we might have gone around the Captain’s back to try and figure out how to fly too. Nothing bad happened I swear! We aimed for a patch of sandy ground to try out landing, and only once we were sure we wouldn’t miss our target.”

“Well, I didn’t see any griffon flying around so I don’t suppose you got to the actual flying.” The Pole stated with a small smile on his beak.

“Maybe we didn’t.” Vadim conceded. “But we very much did get the ‘gliding’ part down. Landing uh…” He hesitated. “I wouldn’t exactly call it ‘classy’ but at least the ‘paws first, claws second’ technique works. Mostly. It’s still a bit rough on the edges.”

Micha finished writing down what he wanted on his notes and closed the tide tables. He was pretty sure he could adapt at least part of the upstream passage plan he had used on the way to Antwerp, unless he had already erased that route on the charts… He stood up and turned around to face Vadim.

“Well, flying does sound interesting. I don’t expect we could sneak around to train while at sea but once we’re in Copenhagen I’d be very interested in some private lessons, przyjaciel.” He said.

“I’d be happy to.” Vadim said, nodding eagerly.

“Glad to know. Now, it’s not that I want to be rude but if we’re going to leave ASAP, and by this I mean tomorrow morning, I’d rather be done quickly with my part of the work so I can get some shut-eye.” The Pole said. “The bridge’s yours, see you for dinner.”

And within a minute the Ukrainian was the last one on the bridge. Once again, he caught himself staring longingly at the departing form of his colleague and the way his tail snaked around the door gracefully when he left.

Vadim shook his head.

“Damn it.” he muttered in Ukrainian. “A month ago I was looking forward to proposing to Lyudmila and now I’m flashing on my male best friend?” A little voice in the back of his head wanted to correct him on the male part, he ignored it. “The fuck’s wrong with me?”

The fact that he was having any attraction at all for a creature that wasn’t even human worried him as well, but not as much as the fact that his brain (and his dick) were telling him to go for it when it came to Amandine’s Second Officer. Admittedly he hadn’t always been faithful to Lyudmila, what with his frequent use of hookers in foreign ports; but at least back then they were human.

Also it wasn’t like he was pursuing relationships with hookers, he wasn’t that dumb. He only made use of that service as easy sexual relief when he didn’t have much time in port, and usually it involved a lot of alcohol before he even started to drift towards a red light district.

Micha’s case was different. It was more than just lust: the griffon had caught himself numerous times daydreaming about an actual relationship… with the very same colleague he had gone to brothels with.

Vadim pinched his beak in frustration before pulling out a flask out of his pocket. In it was some of the most potent distillate the guys in engineering had managed to get out of their alembic. He took one long swig of it before moving to sit down in the navigator’s seat and bringing up Denmark on screen.

It was now late in the afternoon and he had work to do. Might as well get on with it; that would get a certain bald eagle griffon out of his mind.

Two decks below, a certain orange dragon was scouring the Officers’ cabins in search of his Second Engineer. Schmitt easily found the minotaur in his cabin where the Greek was chugging cans of energy drink whilst fiddling with a computer that had a distasteful amount of LED’s fitted to it (so much so that it cast a greenish glow inside the dark cabin).

Angelo finished his can and crushed it in his large hand, tossing the crumpled piece of aluminum in the trash without sparing it a look. With a hum, he put the finishing touches on his newest PC build, hooking up the computer to a dual monitor setup which immediately lit up with a hum.

“Busy as ever I see.” Schmitt commented, more to let the Greek be aware of his presence than as an actual reprimand. Unless it threatened the daily workings of the ship, the guy was free to do whatever he wanted in his free time for all he cared.

The minotaur startled, almost toppling his setup before turning towards his superior.

“Ah Chief. Anything that needs to be done?” He asked, fiddling with the tip of one horn with his thumb.

“Not yet, but soon.” Schmitt said. “Farkas and the Captain came back earlier, if you hadn’t noticed.”

“I did. Poor Chief Steward looked thoroughly creeped out, any idea what happened?”

“None so far, though Artyom burst out laughing when I asked.” Schmitt shrugged. “Anyway, we got a distress call recently. Sounds like we’re headed for Copenhagen ASAP from what I was told…”

“…And the engine needs to be ready for departure on time. Got it.” Angelo cut him off. “You divided the tasks yet?”

“Eeyup.” The Luxembourgian nodded. “Aleksei’s prepping the bow thrusters; I’ll run the checklist on the main engine, so if you could do the fuel lines?”

“No problem with that.” Angelo answered. He stood up from the desk and grabbed an alarm clock by his bed. “Any time you need it done?”

“I need them ready by seven so we can do the starting procedure without having to hurry too much.”

The minotaur gave his superior the thumbs up and set his alarm to 04:30. Not that he needed all that extra time to prepare the fuel system, but he wasn’t exactly what you’d call an early bird. At such an hour? He was pretty sure he’d need half an hour to reach a sufficient level of consciousness with some coffee to help him along.

“Was that all?” He asked as he put down the alarm clock.

“I could offer you to make the list for engine watches.” Schmitt offered but the minotaur instantly waved him off.

“Sorry, but I don’t feel like doing it. Let Aleksei draft the list, I know his pick will sync with mine anyway.”

“Your call.” The dragon shrugged before walking off down the hallway, headed for the engine room.

Eyes trailing the form of his superior, the minotaur closed his door once the dragon had disappeared behind a corner and focused his attention back on the computer. The idea of making the gaming rigs had come from Carlos. The electrician was just as big videogame fan as he was and now that they had the opportunity to get the parts for free…

Sure, playing FIFA on a Playstation was nice, but they could do better. Angelo had snuck a list of computer parts on a salvage list one day, and he had been very pleased when Vadim and Micha had come back from Antwerp with the components a few days earlier. Carlos had been ecstatic and had drafted a plan for the best possible build before the minotaur even had time to take a look at the parts that had been retrieved.

The perk of being on a ship was that they only had to connect to the main grid to get the ability to do LAN games and share data. Now, they very much suffered from the loss of the Steam servers (May they rest in peace), but between the two of them they already had a fair amount of games in their respective libraries (some of which Angelo had stored on a hard drive waiting to get a proper PC to run them). Once it was added to the respectable amount of games they had found in containers all over the place (as well as one admittedly poorly furnished store in Zeebrugge), they were pretty much set with a couple thousand hours of game time ahead of them.

And his fellow Filipino geek still had gone off on a tangent about the possibility of adding a dedicated server for multiplayer games on which he had sworn he could program some AI players. Angelo was pretty sure that the parrot had crossed over into wishful thinking by then, but if he could achieve it… might as well let him make his attempt.

The minotaur set a few games to download, as well as the bare essentials for what he would consider useful on a gaming rig. That would take a few hours, but then again neither he nor Carlos expected to achieve anything quickly. A quick glance at the time told him he had an hour to go before dinner, so he picked out an anime on his hard drive to watch in the meantime.

The intro music for Fullmetal Alchemist reverberated through his headset as he pulled out a new can of energy drink from a drawer.

Later in the evening after dinner, well after most sailors had left the cafeteria to finish their evening duties, the trio of veterans was sitting at their usual table sharing beers. It seemed the shooting range experience had managed to rouse their spirits somewhat; and so Nikola found himself telling tales of his time as an army mechanic to Sri and Artyom. The gargoyle was still injured, but the cast on his sprained wing had come off and his bruised ribs didn’t hurt nearly as much.

His muzzle was still heavily bandaged from the quarry eel incident though.

“…So I had left the new guy to finish reassembling the transmission on the CO’s UAZ since I was short on time with other stuff.” The gargoyle told. “Pretty simple stuff actually, so even the new guy could work on it while I cleared up the rest of my backlog.”

“Classic mistake.” Artyom commented with a shake of his head.

“You don’t fucking say.” Nikola said, taking a sip of his beer. “Imbetsil somehow put the gearbox on backwards. No clue how he even managed it, but then the CO turned up asking for his jeep. Usual fluff: ‘I need to see my troops on the field and all’. For all I knew he would have just hung around somewhere on a hill with a LT for half an hour and then gone back to his office ‘cause he was bored. That kind of CO.”

“So what happened?” Sri asked, leaning in slightly.

“Hear this.” He told the female hippogriff. “When this happened I didn’t bother checking what the village idiot had done. I just saw the UAZ, said ‘Looks fine to me’ and handed the keys over to the CO. Next thing I know the car lurches forward with what I swear is the most sickening crunch I ever heard, half the undercarriage fucking drops to the floor and the CO gives me the ‘You done fucked up’ look.”

“Ouch.” Artyom winced in sympathy.

“You don’t say. I must say I’m not exactly what you’d call violent but I threw a wrench at the fucking idiot who did that and booted him out of my shop and straight to an infantry unit.”

“Can’t say I’m surprised.” Sri said, the hippogriff brushing a claw through his wing in thought. “Hey, did I ever tell you guys ‘bout…”

Right then, the trio was interrupted by the cafeteria’s doors opening to let in one small blue-furred unicorn. Bart surveyed the room briefly before spotting the veterans and making a beeline for their table. He was carrying his brown beret tucked under his sweater’s epaulettes and had a bulge in one of his coveralls’ pockets.

He stopped a few steps short of their table, greeting the three veterans with a short nod each.

“Good evening.” He said in a clearly rehearsed manner. “I went to regimental museum. Took items from collection.” His horn lit up with a green glow and two berets, one blue, one red, flew out of one of his pockets, landing softly on the table. “For you. Sorry about not having Indonesian navy.” He apologized to Sri before walking off.

Artyom followed the departing unicorn with a bemused look before staring down at the VDV beret in front of him. The beret wasn’t even one from the soviet era: it was actually identical to the one he had worn during his service in the nineties.

“So what do you guys make of this?” He asked, picking up the beret and staring at it thoughtfully.

“Guy may not be able to talk much but looks like he’s willing to make allies. Heard he was going to run the armory, maybe do some guard duty too. Sounds like the kind of guy I can get along with.” Sri said.

“Once the Fourth Officer gets him talking maybe.” Niko added, putting the red beret in one of his hip pockets. “You alright Artyom?”

The Russian kept staring at his beret for a couple seconds before allowing a smile to creep on his muzzle, revealing the sharp fangs in his maw.

“Yeah, I’m with you on that, guys. It’s just something I recalled.” He said.

“And what would that be?”

“’Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth’ the saying goes.”

Sri groaned and slapped a claw against his forehead while Niko cuffed the snorting dragon on the back of his skull. So much for Artyom’s reputation of stoicism…

Morning didn’t come too soon for some on Amandine. Vadim was kind of glad he only had to manage the unmooring of the ship because charting their port entry in Copenhagen lasted him well into the night. The Ukrainian griffon let out a tired yawn as he walked out of the accommodation to his designated station for their departure.

The weather that day was rather mild despite the large grey cloud cover that blocked out the sun. Rain was expected latter in the afternoon if the HPI weather satellites were to be trusted, but not much wind thankfully. A ship with as much freeboard as Amandine tended to drift from her predicted course a lot in high winds.

Vadim did a quick check of his equipment before heading to his position by the aft winches. Life jacket? Check, and he had replaced its CO2 cartridge recently. He turned on his walkie-talkie and tuned it to their usual channel for mooring operations, the little plastic box immediately erupting with Micha’s voice. The Pole could be seen making his last checks on the bridge wings with Geert by his side, the wounded parrot reading points off of a checklist on a clipboard.

“Vadim to bridge, reporting in from aft winch station. Over.” He said on the radio while doing a quick head count of the sailors assembled on his post.

One purple furred sphinx (Mohammed) was propped up against the rail and looking out towards the container stacks while Ajit (the Himalayan sheepdog) was observing the seal colonies on the river banks. Two reliable sailors, both were looking ready for their departure.

“Morning Vadim. We’re going to do this one line at a time, no hurry, all focus on safety. Is your station ready? Over.” Micha asked.

“Roger on the safety. We’re ready. Out.” The grey falcon griffon answered as he checked out the winch drums before they put a line on it.

All sailors waited a couple minutes more before a plume of smoke rose from the funnel, accompanied by the telltale rumble from the engine indicating the guys down in engine room had turned it on successfully.

Up on the starboard bridge wing, Micha gave a satisfied nod. Everything was in place just as he desired it, checklists done. Now to get the maneuver approved. He turned towards the Captain who was sitting in his chair inside the bridge, sipping from a fresh cup of tea. Boris was at the helm a short distance away, ready to take his orders and get them out of their berthing.

“Captain, all checks done and ready for departure. Cargo is secure for sea and all mooring stations are manned. Permission to proceed?”

“Granted.” The Indian said. “And take it easy, no need to take any risk.”

They started off by releasing tension on the mooring lines amidships, the sphinx on that station quickly pulling them aboard using his telekinesis. Micha had reviewed his plan several times before deeming it ready: they were moored bow first in a terminal perpendicular to the river. On the plus side the terminal was dug in a bend of the river which gave him more room to work with.

Still, if he fucked up the maneuver they would be stuck drifting downstream backwards for a couple hours before they hit the open seas.

His plan was to let go on the stern first and use a bit of transverse thrust with the propellers to line them up with the bend before he let go on the bow. That way he could limit the effect of the current and have his maneuver halfway done without even releasing the ship from her mooring completely. A well controlled burst on the bow thruster would then be enough to bring them in line with the course of the Scheldt.

But before he had time to order Vadim to release tension on the stern lines, a cluster of tan shapes emerged from the container stacks on the quays and approached the vessel quickly. With his sharp eyesight he could make out the shapes to be… Lions?! What the hell?

They heard a chuckle coming from the Captain, the pariah dog glancing alternatively from Farkas by the fore winches to the pride of lions on the quays.

The sailors who hadn’t been on the team that raided the museums the day before looked in confusion as the male of the pride ran as close to the ship as it could and dropped a bloody bayonet on the concrete of the quays before calling out to a very much blushing Farkas with a roar.

“I’m sorry Captain, but did I miss something?” Micha asked.

“Our good Chief Steward found it funny to joke about jacking off to Simba from the Lion King yesterday.” Dilip chuckled. “Well, what would you know: when we came close to the zoo it appeared that lions do not mind the difference between them and sphinxes.”

“Hold on sir. You can’t possibly say that this lion is… Did it flirt with Farkas?!”

“Looked a lot like it did from my point of view, and by the looks of it seems very attracted to Farkas.” The Captain said, nodding with his muzzle towards the lion.

It was now sitting on its haunches and crooning at the embarrassed sphinx lioness (might as well call her that) high up on Amandine’s deck.

“So Farkas, seems like Simba’s got a crush on you. Should we start calling you Nala? Over.” The Captain teased over the radio.

The lioness threw a glare towards the bridge before trying to shoo the amorous lion away. That kind of stuff was outright bestiality, no way in hell would she even think about responding to a lion’s advances. Despite her protests, the lion still kept crooning at her, not moving an inch.

And she was under no illusion that the group of lionesses behind it was glaring at her despite her show of force against the chimera one day earlier.

Right behind her, Artyom was laughing his ass off at the lioness’ plight, muttering gibberish in Russian and letting out small puffs of smoke from between his jaws. Farkas looked at him in annoyance before remembering something she had discovered thanks to the chimera and the lions.

A second later the dragon was on the ground, completely paralyzed from the sphinx’s breathing out a cloud of gas at him. Sure, the Russian would eventually find a way to get back at her, but it felt good to teach him a lesson.

And the lion still wasn’t leaving.

The sphinx in charge with the winches amidships came to check out what was going on. The guy was called Thanasis, a Greek guy from engineering who now sported a tan fur with a dark blue mane.

“Hey guys what’s the hassle?” He asked before looking over the rail and down at the pride of lions. “Uh, visitors?”

“More like zoo escapees.” Farkas drawled. “They’re not ‘human’ intelligent, just rather clever for wild animals.”

Right then the amorous lion took a look at Thanasis and immediately recognized the other sphinx as a male who was very close to the subject of its attentions, a concurrent to the heart of its beloved. It stood up on its hind legs and let out a roar of challenge at the confused Greek.

Farkas shook her head. They needed to cut this short before it got even sillier than it already was; they had a voyage and rescue operation to accomplish. She glanced thoughtfully between the angry lion and Thanasis next to her before coming to a resigned conclusion.

“I’m sorry Thanasis, this is nothing personal but we need to get this lion off our collective back.” She said, quietly approaching the blue maned sphinx.

“Hold on, what are you getting at?” The other sphinx asked in confusion.

Mindful to make it happen in sight of the lion on the quays, she came up within reach of the other Greek and made a point of glancing down at the wild lion before rubbing her mane against Thanasis’ ,licking him on the muzzle and walking out of sight.

The lion’s reaction was instantaneous as it roared in sheer fury before pushing Farkas’ bayonet in the water and running off with the rest of its pride in tow.

“Aww, nice move Farkas, I think you broke its heart. Over.” Dilip joked over the radio.

Artyom might have still been paralyzed by Farkas’ gas attack at the moment, but the gleam in the dragon’s eyes was enough to tell the Chief Steward about the incoming jokes she was going to be the butt of. With a snort, she shook her head and made her way towards the accommodation.

“Thanasis, you deal with the fore mooring lines for me. I’ve had quite enough of this shit.” She told over her shoulder.

The male sphinx stayed put as the lioness walked away, utterly confused.

“What the fuck just happened?” He asked to no one in particular.

But the sailor’s question went ignored, everyone around instead resuming their work except for the still paralyzed Artyom who got propped up against a bulkhead while he recovered from his paralysis.

He was tempted to complain about sphinxes getting that kind of trick, but the dragon had figured out how to breathe fire by then (or rather: stop himself from doing it unwittingly and avoid setting the ship on fire).

Back on the bridge, Micha filed that particular incident for later and resumed the unmooring process when everyone was once again focused on the task at hand… or paw… or claw, whatever. He had Vadim release all tension on the stern lines before turning both rudders to starboard and giving a short burst ahead with the propellers.

That technique had the effect of making water reflect off of the rudders, thus creating transverse thrust that pushed the stern away from the quay. Keeping the thrust to short bursts ensured the ship would not build any forward momentum and tear off the fore mooring lines.

When Amandine’s stern was at enough of an angle that he judged he could turn the ship around easily, he switched the pitch on the propellers backwards before having the bow team let go on their mooring lines, finally freeing the ship from her berthing.

The bald eagle griffon went over to the controls of the bow thrusters before ordering his helmsman to give backwards thrust. Amandine slowly started to build some speed, moving upstream while Micha corrected the effects of the current with the bow thrusters. He couldn’t push the ship too fast; otherwise the admittedly feeble thrusters would lose any effect on the ship’s course, so it took them a couple minutes to back away from the quays and on the river proper.

Eventually, the Pole managed to line up the ship with the river on his first try and switched the propellers back to forward motion. Micha brushed a talon through his head feathers, satisfied with a well executed maneuver, a subtle smirk on his beak before turning to his colleagues on the bridge.

“To be noted on the logbook: 09:35, we are now underway towards Copenhagen. That’s gotta be a record considering that was without tugs or line handlers.” He stated. “Geert, can you get on the radio and tell the guys on deck to stow the mooring lines?”

The scarlet macaw nodded before hobbling out of the bridge, walkie-talkie in hand. The griffon then turned to the Captain after giving Boris a course to follow.

“It’s gonna take us some time to reach open waters. My intentions are to keep a speed of about 5 knots since we don’t have tugs to help us maneuver if anything goes awry. That way I can do quick course corrections with the bow thrusters. We will only shut them down once we’re out of the estuary and able to speed up.”

“Agreed.” The dog said as he got up from his chair. “Say, can you tell me if Artyom’s still paralyzed? Your eagle eyes are better than mine.”

Micha threw a quick look down towards the forecastle where the Russian was still against a bulkhead, though he seemed able to move his neck and arms now.

“Give him a minute or two I’d say.”

“Thanks. I’ll be in my office if anything happens. Have a good watch.” The Captain said before heading for the stairs.

And on that note Amandine was once again sailing.

The call had been acknowledged! Someone was coming!

Granted, she didn’t know who or when they were coming, but the display on her radio station clearly showed one of her messages as having been acknowledged by another station. She even had a MMSI number to go with and look up in the station’s directory… if she could manage to get enough control on her wings to manipulate the keyboard.

Yeah, there is a bit of a difference between pressing the big red button with ‘distress’ written on it and actually using her wings to type on the keyboard. She wasn’t too far from that point, but some… unfortunate events had forced her to leave her desk.

The wood hounds were encroaching on the building. Their paths in the last few days had been bringing them ever closer to her position, probably because they had managed to track down her scent, if only partially.

She had hurriedly rushed outside to quickly close the gates by the entrance and made sure all accesses in the fence were closed. She didn’t think it would stop the hounds, but delaying them would have to suffice. She also accidentally scratched her hoof when she went past her car, stepping on shards of broken glass with her unprotected leg.

Luckily she knew where to find the first aid kits inside the radio station. Putting on a bandage around the wound proved rather hard with only her poorly controlled wings and mouth (how sanitary…) to do it, but she managed to hold it in place with a generous amount of medical tape.

The batpony spent the rest of her day securing the ground level of the radio station as best as she could despite her small frame. She didn’t know when the hounds would breach the outer fence, just that they eventually would. Doing so took her well into the night before she was able to return to her desk inside the control room.

Then, the screen showed her someone had made a few attempts at reaching her while she had been occupied. Searching through the station’s directory of MMSI numbers revealed the call to have come from the same vessel that had acknowledged her call, unsurprisingly.

She stared at her extended wings through yellow slitted eyes in frustration. The simple task of typing nine digits on her keyboard took her more than three minutes. Way too slow to be considered convenient. She needed practice.

The vessel that had attempted to call her was apparently a Ro/Ro flagged in Malta (though, with flags of convenience, that didn’t actually tell her much) by the name of Amandine. That was a new bit of hope…

The little purple mare doubted she could manage an audio call just yet, but maybe she could send Amandine a written message via satellite. She did have their Inmarsat number in the directory, but typing it would take time.

She shook her head, making her messy mane bob up and down a bit. It’s not like she had anything else to do anyway: the hounds had her cornered inside the station; she couldn’t go out for more supplies.

A trip to the rec room later, she was slowly typing on her keyboard with an open can of tuna on her desk. It seemed like she was able to process fish at least (which wasn’t too surprising with the small fangs poking out of her mouth).

Lyngby Coast Radio Station,

GOC Operator Sandra Jensen,

Greetings Amandine…

Author's Note

And herewith begins what I shall call the Copenhagen arc...

Naturally at economic speed they won't get there overnight but at least they're actually on the move now.

On a more meta level, and I'm asking this because I don't want to chase anyone away from this story: do you guys want a notice of warning preceding sex scenes? I know I put the sex tag on the story so that was to be expected in the first place, but if any of you guys want me to put up a double line with something like: 'Beware thy who treads the realm of clop'; then don't hesitate. I know some don't like such scenes and I'd rather avoid you the dose of eye bleach.

Chapter 21: Following the Dutch Coastline

Author's Note

For those not interested in such content, I marked the particular scene that contains sexually explicit content with a triple line so you can skip it if you feel like it. Enjoy the read.

Chapter 21: Following the Dutch Coastline

Geert was the first to take over Micha’s watch as they went down the Scheldt. The parrot was able to keep watch despite being injured, though hopping around the bridge on crutches wasn’t the most efficient of methods.

Boris had left the helm to be replaced by a Ukrainian (an osprey/lynx female griffon called Ivan) sailor soon after Micha left. The Dutchman wasn’t too familiar with the former male at the helm save for some discussions they had shared during one of Schmitt briefings for ‘Guys-turned-gals’. That didn’t bother him too much since he’d rather focus on guiding the ship through the somewhat narrow channel of the Scheldt.

Amandine was advancing at a crawl as a matter of precaution, which made the already lengthy process of going down the river excruciatingly long. Calculations estimated that at their whopping speed of five knots, it would take them no less than seven and a half hour to achieve the first stretch of their passage. By commercial standards it was abysmally slow. Then again, considering the usual infrastructure of rescue vessels and tugs was all but gone thanks to the Apocalypse, it was perfectly reasonable to favor more cautious options.

The city of Terneuzen and its canal drifted by on their Port side as the ship slowly moved towards the estuary, but the young Dutchman was more interested in the other city that was looming on their Starboard side: Vlissingen. The very town he used to live in before everything went to shit. From what they had witnessed in Belgium he was pretty sure the city would be completely empty, including the apartment he used to share with his girlfriend.

The parrot’s grip on the edge of his chair tightened when he thought about the blonde girl. She had been by his side ever since he moved there from his hometown in Groningen to study at the maritime academy. Every time he had gone out to sea, she had been the first to greet him either on the quays or at the train station when he got back.

Geert clicked his large beak and ordered a small course correction to the helmsman to ensure they safely passed next to a hidden sandbank before turning to admire the landscape.

Across the somewhat large distance that separated the vessel from the river banks, he could see the dykes which he knew hid marshy terrain and well irrigated fields. A lone windmill dominated the flat countryside, reminiscent of an era where his countrymen relied on wind power to preserve them from a watery annihilation.

Further downstream, he could already see the port of Vlissingen, notably smaller than the one they had left behind in Antwerp with a small marina and a fleet of sailboats that would forever await their owners. The seafront side of the city was built over a tall stone wall to protect it from the North Sea storms that sometimes drifted towards the city. Apartment buildings shared the space on the seafront with some ancient observation towers, lighthouses and the more modern radio masts equipped with radars that allowed the harbor authority to track any traffic that entered the Scheldt estuary.

Geert’s gaze drifted towards one side of the town where he knew his apartment was, hidden from sight by a row of buildings and hotels.

“Homesick?” The helmsman asked, startling the parrot somewhat.

“Not really homesick. It’s just… Now we’re heading for Denmark, and then probably to America. Makes me wonder, am I ever going to see my homeland again after this?” The parrot glanced quickly at the ECDIS. “Starboard five, steer zero-eight-five.”

“Aye, zero-eight-five on starboard. You know, I think you choosing to stay with us did this ship a great service.” The griffon said.

“Care to elaborate? ‘cause to me it didn’t seem too hard of a choice.” He nodded towards the city they were passing, ears drooped. “After all, this city doesn’t look too active.”

“Steady on zero-eight-five. I mean you, being the most recent member of the crew and a fresh-out-of-the-academy cadet, decided it was better to stick with the group rather than go back home, even considering you were like an hour away by car? I may be wrong, but to me you could be the difference between just Ioan leaving us when we arrived in Zeebrugge, and half the crew making off.”

Which would have left Amandine undermanned and unable to continue operating.

“Glad to hear that I guess.” Geert shrugged before turning his head to focus on the helmsman by his side. The female griffon had, not unlike Micha, highlighted feathers on his head. But where Micha’s were green and surrounding his eyes, Ivan’s were more like yellow streaks of feathers on his forehead.

“Would you? I mean, would you have tried to make it back home?”

“You know I somewhat doubt there was a home to go back to in my case, and that was even before the Event.” Ivan snorted.

“Crimea?”

“Nah, Donetsk.” He said with a shake of his head. “You know, before it all went to shit over there I was content with leaving things be. I’m gone most of the time, so it would be great if I had a country to go back to. I don’t suppose you would be particularly happy if after months of sailing around the world you went back to find your hometown reduced to rubble because your khuilo neighbors decided to secede and create a state of their own.” Ivan sighed. “Sorry, caught myself rambling there.”

“No worries. If anything, it makes my own problems sound mild by comparison.” Geert gave one last look towards Vlissingen before the ship finally passed the town, marking the end of their descent of the Scheldt.

“If you don’t mind me asking, what was your stance on what occurred in Ukraine? I know we’re not supposed to talk about it for the sake of crew unity but I always was curious.”

“Hate to disappoint you Officer, but I really don’t have a strong political stance on this. Russian, Ukrainian, I don’t care at all; I speak both languages anyway. What I wanted was a solution that avoided any violence and left me with a home to come back to.” The griffon let out a tired trill. “Guess you don’t always get what you want. Fucking power hungry shitheads…” He muttered.

“That’s… surprisingly sensible. Any idea what the rest of the Ukrainians and Russians on board think about it?”

“Dunno really. We avoid that topic like plague, but I don’t think Vadim really cares. He’s technically from Kiev but everyone knows he’s spent most of his life in Poland so he’s not that involved. As for Artyom, I would have expected a VDV vet to taunt us Ukrainians over it but the guy is surprisingly tame about it. Odd.”

“And Boris?”

“Boris?” Ivan snorted. “Fucking gopnik is only held back by the Captain’s orders not to talk politics otherwise I’m pretty sure he would be talking shit nonstop.”

“Thanks for small mercies then, though I head the gopnik part was just a trick to get Vadim and Micha off his back. Port 5, steer zero-nine-seven.” He ordered.

Having left the Scheldt, Geert and Ivan steered Amandine West through the Belgian sandbanks in order to reach the deep draught channel that marked the traffic lane they wanted to follow. On their Port side they could see hints of the Belgian coast off in the distance, with the tall cranes of the port of Zeebrugge just barely peeking over the horizon.

At this point they were able to speed up to 15 knots, not needing the extra maneuvering capacity in open waters. The engine rumbled and sent vibrations coursing through the hull when the Dutch parrot pushed the throttle, finally able to unleash its gigantic power and propel the two hundred meters long ship onward to her next port of call.

They could have gone faster. Amandine was a decently fast ship, being able to reach the respectable speed of 25 knots and sustain it. The issue was: fuel consumption followed an exponential curve, and even at 15 knots they burned through about 20 tons of heavy fuel oil per day. Pushing her to her limits would have them burning up to 70 tons of fuel per day, and with no working refinery around they’d rather avoid emptying their tanks for no reason.

Soon enough, they passed the anchorage of West Hinder where this whole chain of events had started for them. The place was of no particular interest to the naked eye: it was just a stretch of open water that made for a solid anchoring ground, with only the offshore wind turbines to the North-East visible.

The moment they passed the point of West Hinder was also the moment the cloud cover finally broke into rain, pelting the decks with heavy drops of water and forcing some sailors that had been smoking on the main deck back inside.

Beyond their talk about home and Ukraine, Ivan and Geert didn’t talk too much, both already having a lot on their mind to think about.

By the point they sailed within sight of the English coast and spotted the lighthouse of Ramsgate, they were finally relieved from duty by Alejandro and a new helmsman. Sailing down the Scheldt and out to sea had lasted them until late in the afternoon. Geert was all too glad to be able to go back to his cabin at that point: his still injured hip was aching and he felt like he really needed to lie down for a bit.

The parrot quickly brought Alejandro up to snuff with what was going on with the navigation before handing over the watch and grabbing his crutches. With Ivan in tow, he hobbled off and went back to his cabin.

Down in the engine room, Micha and Aleksei were once again busy with their computer troubles. The Pole had by then finished inputting the data for the pumps in the generator systems and had moved on to the more complicated piping network of the main propulsion. By his side, Aleksei was busy as well, trying to achieve some progress with their radio log converter. The hippogriff had managed to find a rubber band to hold the white feathers of his ‘mane’ behind his head, a noticeable oil stain on the tip of the feathers telling observers the little innovation hadn’t come too soon.

With the main engine active, the temperature in the control room had gone up significantly. It may have only been fifteen degrees outside, but deep down in the bowels of the vessel, the atmosphere heated up to a sweltering thirty degrees despite the best efforts of the ventilation system. Coupled with the rolling of the vessel, the noise and the vibrations, the place made for a rather uncomfortable area if you weren’t used to it.

Aleksei quickly checked the status of the main engine on the control panels, ensuring it was running smoothly and throttling down one of the fuel pumps before focusing back on his computer.

“You know it’s bloody annoying having to do all the work without an online repository to rely on.” Aleksei complained. “I mean, I got my own notes as a base but this shit is hard.”

“Stalling again?” Micha said, looking up from his computer to peek at the lines of code on Aleksei’s.

“You don’t say. I thought I had a lead there but once I tried the converter on a sample file I crashed the whole damn program. That’s a restart from scratch.” He sighed. “How is it going for you?”

“Slow and steady. It’s tedious because of the sheer amount of variables the computer has to check out before adjusting pump rpm but as long as I stick to the manual it’s fine. Want some help?”

“No offence but you wouldn’t know how to go about it.”

“None taken.” The bald eagle griffon hit a key, finishing his work on one particular pump before moving on to the next one. “Say, you heard about what happened with Farkas?”

“The lion pride? Pretty funny if you ask me, I’m all in for nicknaming her Nala. Would be fitting.” The Latvian hippogriff chuckled.

“It’s not only that.” Micha frowned, his tail starting to swing faster behind him. “A rumor from the Chief Cook has it he admitted to being heterosexual.”

“By heterosexual do you mean?”

“Yeah, as in relative to his current gender. Makes me worried you know…” The Pole admitted.

“You haven’t thought about our crew’s gender reversals much yet, have you?” The light green hippogriff asked, with his head cocked to one side, a mischievous smile appearing on his face.

“Have you?” Micha answered back.

“For about a week I’d say. It’s not something that I advertise but…” The Pole blushed. “I am in the same case as our dear Chief Steward. Didn’t dare ask around about it though.”

“So you’re attracted to dudes?”

Aleksei nodded subtly.

“I think you should look into it tonight Micha, for your own sake.” The Latvian said. “I’ll admit, it was a bit of a… harrowing thought to realize this but it’s definitely something you should figure out. Plus there is no harm in just being curious. Doesn’t mean we aren’t trying to find a solution to that particular predicament, am I right?”

The female griffon nodded numbly. He wasn’t too keen on… exploring that particular area of his changes but he did presume something in him had changed beyond what laid between his legs. The way he felt when around Vadim was already a hint of that, particularly when he thought about the accidental teasing he had inflicted on the Ukrainian in front of the gun shop a couple days earlier.

“Back to Farkas.” Micha said. “Have you noticed how people started using ‘she’ to refer to him since the lion incident? Or even how bizarrely clever that male lion was?”

“Clever?”

“I don’t think a regular lion would have had enough wits to figure out the bayonet belonged to Farkas and brought it along all the way from downtown. It’s not human clever but definitely more than it had any right to be.” The Pole explained.

“Can’t tell, only got second hand reports of the incident. On the other hand did you hear what Nguyen told about the seals in the harbor? Sounded kinda similar to the lion thing.”

“In which way?” This time it was Micha’s turn to be curious.

“Apparently once they figured out he was the one throwing food waste in the harbor they started to track him around the docks and asked for food whenever he passed the ship’s ramps. They even ‘explained’ to him using honks and gesture with their flippers how they wanted meat and fish waste.”

“Bizarre indeed…” Micha muttered before being interrupted by the ringing of the interphone.

Making sure his progress on the pump’s automation system was saved; the griffon stood up and picked up the phone which erupted in an angry mix of Dutch and dubious English, courtesy of the newest addition to the crew.

Turns out, trusting an active military guy with the armory meant that even he as an Officer couldn’t get away with leaving his dirty rifle expecting to come back and clean it later. Micha couldn’t understand all the words the unicorn was saying but he sounded pissed alright, telling him to ‘Come clean gun, now’. Micha tried to protest, only to be answered with a ‘you have no watch now, come clean’ before Bart hung up on him.

Behind him, Aleksei snickered, the female hippogriff giving him an amused look.

“Looks like you just got your first taste of military grade weapons discipline. I knew Artyom and the vets had been lax on us with that.” She said with a click of her beak.

“Wait, you knew this would happen?”

“I may not have been in the military but my pa’ was. National Guard; told me a lot about the inner workings.”

“That’s new.” Micha said with a surprised look.

“Not really. I just don’t go around telling my past to everyone. Now go, I get a feeling the Corporal will be calling again if you don’t show up soon.”

Micha resigned himself to get berated over his dirty rifle. He had been planning to clean it, just not that early. With a sigh he wished Aleksei a good evening before making his way up the stairs, out of the engine room and towards the armory.

There was some work going on in the workshop: a couple sailors were working through their fleet of Defenders, applying some much needed modifications to the 4x4’s. The versions they had retrieved from Antwerp were devoid of any useful gear that ought to be considered essential on that kind of vehicle (not unusual since they were brand new). Thankfully, they were built on a pretty modular chassis.

Micha waved to Nikola in passing, the Bulgarian being busy installing snorkel kits on all of their Land Rovers with the help of Thanasis. The gargoyle had been dubious about their decision to choose Defenders over Lada Nivas as their smaller vehicle up until Vadim pointed out to him that Land Rover engine were no longer made by ‘that fucking train wreck of a car manufacturer by the name of British-Leyland’ (according to Vadim).

Unlike Vadim however, Micha wasn’t really a car-guy so he didn’t understand all that was said about it but apparently the former owner of the Land Rover Company had a pretty terrible streak when it came to reliability. Thankfully, their versions were made by the new owner with a much better Td5 diesel engine compared to previous versions. At least that’s what he had overheard.

As long as they ran correctly, this was of no importance to the griffon.

Further behind, the ship’s duo of welders were in the process of putting together some roll cages and bull bars for their vehicles. Now, welding was always a dangerous process on board of ships, what with concerns about ventilation and fires. Such problems had been circumvented by the creation of a dedicated space for welding inside of the workshop, one equipped with separate ventilation and firefighting equipment.

Micha entered the open armory, only to be immediately confronted by an irate unicorn holding his hunting rifle in his telekinesis. Bart made a great show of pointing to the rifle’s dirty action, punctuating his angry rant with a mix of angry Dutch and simple words in English. The Pole was tempted to roll his eyes, but instead just settled for snatching the rifle and going to take a seat at one of the workbenches.

Bart let out a snort before turning back to the weapon cages and moving off to… somewhere. Whatever their new guard/gunsmith spent his time doing in the armory, the Second Officer didn’t know nor care overly much. What he did notice however, were the decorations that had already sprung up on the walls of the armory: car calendars (written in Cyrillic, which ruled out Bart as their owner), gun schematics and even a dart board.

The female griffon clicked his beak and grabbed a cleaning brush before setting to cleaning his rifle.

Shortly after dinner, Dilip was having some small talk around a cup of tea with Schmitt in his office. The orange dragon wasn’t a big fan of the beverage, but decided to entertain the Indian dog since he knew the guy was a sucker for some good tea.

“So how’s Farkas?” Schmitt asked.

“Fine. She was pretty embarrassed and I had her explain herself to Thanasis. But now? She’s fine.”

“Eh, if you say so.” The dragon shrugged before dumping a generous amount of sugar in his cup when Dilip wasn’t looking. “Poor Thanasis was pretty confused once we were done unberthing. ‘I’m sorry sir, but why did the Chief Steward just lick me? And what the fuck was up with that lion?’”

“Yeah, took a while to get Farkas to tell me her reasoning. Completely twisted I must say, but in a weird fashion it makes sense. If you look at it sideways and squint a little.”

Schmitt let out an amused snort, the gesture making a small puff of smoke rise up from his nostrils which Dilip followed with his eyes until it left through the half open window.

“Every time I talk to you or Artyom I’m reminded we have two walking flamethrowers on board. Puts the firefighter in me on edge you know?”

“I get the feeling. No worries though, I spent some time figuring out how to control it and checking out that ‘emotional smoke’. It won’t cause any fires, and unless someone gives me one hell of a sucker punch right in the gut, I won’t torch the ship by accident.” He reassured his superior.

“Glad to hear that.” Dilip said as he sipped his tea. “Say, I was wondering…”

“My sexuality?” The Chief Engineer interrupted him.

“How did you guess?”

“Educated guess. It’s been the topic recently and we were just talking about Farkas.”

“So?”

“Still into gals.” He said. “Sorry to burst your bubble. It doesn’t seem like every female on board was affected by a change in sexuality.” The dragon told, picking at his claws before leveling his muzzle towards the Captain. “I hope you weren’t betting on matching me with Artyom.”

Dilip got a weird look on his muzzle, the dog’s right ear twitching a little.

“Now that would have been weird. I will have you know I think about personalities when I place my bets, you both are so mismatched it could never work.”

“Ahah, so you did think about it!” Schmitt said, pointing an accusatory digit at the seated dog.

“Only briefly I swear, and only because Alej’ mentioned the bet first.”

“Bets, bets, and more bets; that’s all I ever hear around here. You know, for an Indian you’re weirdly into British culture you know?” The dragon said, standing up and pacing around the room for a bit, his tail swishing behind him.

“Fair enough, I’ll admit I did rent a house in Aberdeen before the Event. It’s not always possible to go back to India between contracts you know?”

“Aberdeen uh? Been trying to get into the offshore industry?”

“That was an idea I never got to implement. Admittedly, the most use I got out of that house before the Event was for having two of my kids study at the university there. Bloody expensive too, but that was years ago, they graduated now.” The dog said, thinking back to how proud he had been of his twin sons graduating at the same time. He had a photo of that day in an album inside his cabin.

“Says the guy who makes eight thousand pounds a month.” Schmitt said with a shake of his head.

“Oh, I’m sorry Mr. I-Live-In-Luxembourg-Because-Taxes-Are-Overrated, how is that tax haven going for you?” Dilip replied with a hint of a smile.

“Contrarily to you I was born there.” The dragon countered with a raised brow. “But I do admit the tax and banking systems are a nice plus. There are still taxes just so you know though…” The dragon stopped briefly, a gleam appearing in his eyes. “Hold on a second, didn’t you tell me your wife always stayed in Mumbai? Were you actually avoiding her using Aberdeen as a shield?”

“So much shit I can take from her before I want to be halfway across the world I’ll admit but…” The dog raised a paw in defense. “… It was from an arranged marriage. I did tolerate her enough to put two sons and a daughter in her after all. I still go back to India frequently… when I have to do work for the navy.”

“Poor you.” Schmitt commented ruefully. “Family alliance?”

“Joining businesses a couple decades ago. My father wanted to merge his law cabinet with another, got a lot of profit out of it too. More than enough to send two of his sons to study in the UK.”

“Lemme guess, you were the third one.”

“Bull’s-eye my friend. I got sent to the maritime academy in Mumbai instead.” Dilip drawled after downing the content of his cup and going for a refill.

“Well, look where that got you. Nothing to scoff at I’d say, and you did get to the UK eventually.”

“That’s the way I beat the odds.” The Captain boasted, both of his ears rising up in pride.

Schmitt was about to retort with a snarky comment when the interphone rang, bringing the friendly conversation to a grinding halt. Dilip picked up, listening for a few seconds before uttering a small ‘thank you’ and turning to his computer.

“Something up?”

“We just received a written message from the station in Lyngby that’s what.” Dilip said, starting up his computer and bringing up the inbox folder.

Ahead of the previous messages they had received from the HPI was a single unread message, which Dilip immediately opened. He skimmed past the general data, time of reception, yada yada… and instead focused on the bulk of the message.

Lyngby Coast Radio Station,

GOC operator Sandra Jensen,

Greetings Amandine,

I am very glad to have finally found other survivors. I require assistance as soon as possible: my station is now surrounded by monster dogs made out of wood. I know this doesn’t seem to make much sense but they almost got me when I was out looking for survivors a few days ago.

I am now barricaded inside the radio station but the dogs appear to have tracked down my scent or at least located the area I was in. I do not have a weapon and cannot defend myself so please, if you are able to, send help. I fear the dogs may breach the outer fence soon and I do not know how long my barricades of the main building can hold them off.

Also, have you experienced any change out of the ordinary yourself? I fear telling you more about this might make you think I am crazy.

I am alone in the station and I now have about five days of supplies left if I ration them carefully. Please send a reply if you are coming to assist.

Respectfully,

Dilip and Schmitt stared at each other for a couple seconds.

“’change out of the ordinary?” Schmitt asked.

“In other words she transformed like us. But the monsters…” Dilip trailed off.

“As damaging on living beings and vegetations as wood hounds seem to be I don’t think they could breach a radio station that fast.”

“You’re saying that as if we actually have good intel on those beyond the fact they burn well under dragon fire and outdated pepper spray with a lighter.”

“We don’t, but I think she will last until we get there. Lyngby isn’t far from Copenhagen so as soon as the ramp is lowered we can dispatch a team to save her.” Schmitt said. “And if we put Artyom on that team we can make the hounds regret their life choices by siccing an angry ex-VDV dragon with guns and an integrated flamethrower on them.”

“I guess when you put it that way… Okay, I'm just going to write her an answer immediately.” The Captain said, pulling his keyboard closer.

“As you see fit, I will be hanging out in the Officers’ lounge.” The dragon said before walking out of the office.

Warning: explicit sexual content is present in the next scene

It was four in the morning when Micha locked the door to his cabin, finally done with his day. He was kind of glad they were now running with four deck officers against the usual three before the Event; it gave him extra time for himself in between watches on the bridge.

Being the Chief Officer gave Alejandro the right to determine they would stick to rounds of four hours on the bridge. That choice meant they wouldn’t always keep watch on the same hour every day, but it also meant they could enjoy twelve hours of time to work on their daily tasks or rest between watches.

Micha was still on the fence about that decision, but since this passage was pretty short he didn’t mind the minimal amount of jetlag it would cause. And at this particular moment? It meant the female griffon didn’t have to go up to the bridge until four in the afternoon.

He kicked off his steel-toed safety shoes into a corner of the cabin, which had the same general layout as those of the other Officers and Engineers. The way it differed from the rest was in its owner’s decoration choices: there were a couple posters of heavy metal bands on the walls, as well as one autographed poster of Sabaton just above his bed. The heavy metal posters shared the walls with pictures of wildlife and one advert poster for Husqvarna rifles which he had bought when he had visited the factory in Sweden once.

On the wall facing his desk, Micha had put up some photos of his family, with one of him with his wife and his parents on the day of his wedding. The griffon took off his gloves and sat down on his haunches by the desk, staring at the smiling face of his father, the elderly, crippled, fisherman beaming with pride at his son clad in his dress blues.

The Pole knew that in a drawer of his desk was a small box holding his wedding band. He hadn’t worn it since the Event; in fact he usually didn’t wear it at sea because of safety concerns ingrained into him by his own father.

‘Never disregard safety procedures’ the old man would always say. ‘Look where that got me’ was what he would add, pointing to his left leg which had been mangled by a mooring cable that snapped at an inopportune moment.

The griffon sighed wistfully looking at the picture. He idly wondered how his family would react, hell, how his wife would react if she learned the father of her unborn kid had been turned into a cat-bird female by some weird fur-pocalypse.

Probably badly.

The Pole felt torn. On one claw he was pretty sure that with the amount of survivors they had found (that is: a whopping two) he wouldn’t find anyone should he make his way back to Gdansk but on the other claw… It felt wrong to just move on in spite of the vows he had recited years ago at the altar in front of his wife.

Post-apocalyptic faithfulness to people that may not even exist anymore aside; Micha judged now was the ideal moment to try out Aleksei’s suggestion. The prospect of delving into the change he had made a point of avoiding ever since the Event was enough to make the griffon blush.

He twisted his body to take off his coveralls (which now featured Vadim’s innovation of adding zipper holes for his wings) before moving off to the bathroom to hang them on a peg inside. Micha got a look at his own body in the mirror in passing.

He was a mix of bald eagle on his avian half with the feline half of a wildcat. This made it so that his head was covered in white feathers except for the naturally highlighted green feathers surrounding his yellow raptor eyes. From the four griffons present on board, they had determined females seemed to be the only ones with colored feathers like those, with males being more likely to have crests or extra tufts of down on their head.

The white feathers changed tone around his neck, replaced by dark brown feathers covering his body and wings until they reached his feline half, which was covered in brown-grey fur with dark stripes on his back. This pattern continued to the tip of his decently sized tail which ended in a black tuft of fur. The fur on his belly and nether regions on the other claw, shifted instead to a brighter hue of grey.

Perhaps due to a lack of knowledge on how to properly maintain them, the feathers on his wings were rather messy despite Micha’s best attempts at brushing them with his claws. The result wasn’t catastrophic, but the primaries did lack the sheen they had had the day he had transformed.

Observing the appearance of other griffons had led the Pole to some more conclusions about griffons: his new specie had sexual dimorphism beyond the feathers on their head. Males and females seemed to be about as tall, but females had a wider err… rump shape whereas males were stockier on the front body department. Females also had a slightly longer body and, from comparisons drawn from seeing Vadim’s wings (the Ukrainian had a tendency of airing his wings out whenever the Captain wasn’t around), a larger wingspan too.

Also, griffons didn’t have teats. Logical in a sense: he doubted young griffon chicks (or cubs maybe?) would be able to nurse on their mothers with their beaks.

He willingly ignored the fact he was now technically in the population bracket that was able to become such a mother.

Staring in the mirror, the female griffon brushed a claw against the side of his beak. Last chance to back out on his decision to discover if his sexuality had changed. His gaze drifted back towards his nether regions in hesitation, where what he knew was a mix between a mammalian vagina and an avian cloaca resided; only subtly hidden by his tail and a thick tuft of fur between his legs. That part of his new body had hardly received any scrutiny since the change from the Pole beyond awkwardly cleaning it without looking each time he took a shower or went to the toilet.

Micha walked back to the bedroom and grabbed his laptop on the desk before moving over to his bed. Plopping down on his stomach on the mattress, he opened the laptop to be greeted by a picture of Amandine, taken shortly before the Event by a drone on the Thames. He quickly scrolled through the menus and opened the program that allowed him to access data on the ship’s server via Wi-Fi. Hidden just enough that corporate executives visiting the ship wouldn’t find it was the porn folder, innocently titled ‘draft documents archive’.

Unknowingly to Micha, his thought pattern brought him along the exact same lines as Farkas when the sphinx ‘explored’ his new female hood. He started by putting on something which he usually enjoyed: lesbian porn, while with one claw he reached for his nether regions.

The porn in front of him utterly failed to stir up the griffon’s loins, even when he tentatively prodded between his legs with a single talon. The sensation of a digit intruding inside his body felt…bizarre to the former man, but not entirely unpleasant. He could feel the warmth in that particular area of his body… but no arousal came from witnessing two nubile women go at it on his screen.

Just as he had feared. Still with a bit of hope that he might be wrong, the Pole switched to a more common video of heterosexual sex between two well endowed individuals. That had more effect on his libido, the sight of the male genitalia making his folds moisten slightly around his talon, the bald eagle griffon releasing a muffled moan as heat built up between his furry thighs.

On one hand he wished he could have claimed the transformation had made him a lesbian… but on the other claw the feelings he was getting did feel simply delightful. His tail brushed against the arm he had between his thighs, its sensitive underside sending a pleasant trill up the griffon’s spine whose wings fluttered ever so slightly in pleasure.

But there was an itch in the back of his mind. Something inside him saw something wrong in what was on the screen: ‘not enough fur’ the more primal part of his mind was saying ‘can’t be healthy’. He went back to explore the porn folder, trying to find something to satisfy the arousal he had stirred between his-no, her legs-.

Inside a sub-folder dubbed ‘Roberto’s Special’, the griffon finally found something to satisfy herself: three folders labeled ‘furry’, ‘scaly’ and ‘avian’ respectively.

Oh Roberto you sly cat, blaming Geert for looking up avians when the Internet was still up, and he was the closet furry all along?

The videos were animations but the griffon’s brain didn’t mind, apparently satisfied by more natural (to her primal mind) looking fur-covered genitalia, as should be found on a griffon. She found a video of an anthropomorphic cougar having sex with a female wildcat which had an instantaneous effect on her.

The parallel between the feline halves of two certain griffons on board didn’t cross her mind at the time.

Eyes riveted on the two animated felines on screen, she plunged her talon deeper in her folds, the movement eliciting a quiet moan of pleasure as the moisture between her thighs started to make her fur stick to her legs. Her tail, extended to its full length, swished vigorously behind her slightly raised rump.

Watching the action pick up on screen, she then plunged a second talon inside her, then a third, the sharp but well trimmed digits teasing relentlessly at the walls inside her female hood. A small purr of pleasure rose from her throat, all previous shame of her predicament temporarily pushed aside as she wiggled her talons inside herself, bringing her arousal to new heights.

A surprised trill escaped her when her ‘thumb’ talon brushed against the clitoris just below her now very wet opening, the simple gesture making her legs feel numb from sheer pleasure as the wetness in that area increased twofold. She (back when she was still a he) knew how effective it was on her wife but… experiencing it first claw brought it to a whole new light.

The primal parts of her mind started to feel envious of the female wildcat getting pounded on screen, her curiosity as to how it would feel increasing despite protests from some parts of her brain that screamed at her how utterly wrong this all was.

But thought remained ignored by the griffon at the time. Instead, she finally reached climax at the same time the wildcat on screen did, her own female juices coating the yellowish scales on her forearm as a violent tremor of wild, unabated pleasure coursed through her nervous system and made her fall limp on the mattress, wings spread out on either side of her. A long moan escaped her beak as she felt the muscles of her cloaca contract repeatedly around her talons. The smell of female sex reached the nostrils in her beak, her smell.

Basking in the afterglow of her very first female orgasm, the griffon watched through half-closed eyes as the video came to a halt when both the anthropomorphic felines fell down in each other’s arms, the cougar cradling the female tightly.

As the Pole slowly came to her senses, she glanced down at the drenched mat of fur between her legs, thinking back to what she had thought during her bout of masturbation and how she was now attracted to males… and how one part of her mind had innocently replaced the upper half of the cougar in the video with that of a grey falcon. Micha’s head dropped, the resigned griffon letting out a tired groan.

“Kurwa…” She said before allowing herself to drift off to sleep, her hind legs lying in the middle of a wet stain on her bed sheets.

While things were going on inside, Amandine continued her course towards Copenhagen. Despite them coming close to the offshore installations of the Thames estuary and repeatedly sending messages on all radio channels, nobody picked up their calls, even those sent on HF and MF waves.

They spent most of the night following the Dutch coast, still keeping a sedate pace to save fuel. Most of the time they were out of visual range of the shore, instead trying to pass within range of as many offshore platforms as possible to garner attention on the radio.

The waters close to the Netherlands weren’t deep, but at least they didn’t have the literal maze of sandbanks and shallows that plagued the Belgian shore (and even worse in that particular case: the sandbanks moved gradually with each spring tide, meaning years from now their charts of that area would be as good as toilet paper). This made for some easier navigation; though they still had to make sure they didn’t sail into one of the many platform installations during the night.

To that extent the bridge crew was glad all those platforms on their course were expelling gas through their flare stacks. That made them hard to miss, and their radar helped avoid the other support platforms next to the drill units that lacked a flare to indicate their position.

Not a single message popped up on the waves during the night except for one written message coming straight from Lyngby they had received earlier, which had immediately been forwarded to the Captain. But the rest? The port of Rotterdam they passed? Nothing. The Dutch naval headquarters in Den Helder, near Texel? Zilch, not a single word on the waves; not even from that cesspool of drugs and depravity called Amsterdam. This was supposed to have been one of the busiest waterways in the world before the Event, but now… Only a single grey and white ship with a yellow funnel traversed those waters.

They could still see some lights coming from buoys here and there, as well as others from automatically controlled lighthouses which drew their power from the hundreds of wind turbines that dotted the shoreline. They were even visible from the sea, the top of the tall structures lit by a slowly blinking red light. It was still too soon after the Event for most of the infrastructure to have gone down, but some hints were already there: one buoy that had drifted out of place, one wind turbine ablaze from its circuitry catching fire. Many supposedly charted lights were absent too, those being lighthouses that had not been automated.

Up on the bridge, Geert had taken the second watch for that day, from four to eight in the morning. The scarlet macaw still had some time to go on his watch before the sun even rose above the horizon.

Not that he minded actually. Keeping watch at night always came with an eerie atmosphere. There was something about being up and awake at impossible hours to guide the ship onwards. The only sources of lighting on the bridge at the time came from the dimly lit instrument screens and the ship’s own navigation lights.

With a better weather he might have caught the opportunity to take a look at the stars but the rain from earlier had not let up. Fat droplets of water petered against the bridge’s windows, only to be brushed away seconds later by the wipers. The wind had picked up slightly, rising to a steady 4 Beaufort which rocked the vessel mildly. Weather predictions had them believe the weather would clear up by the time they reached Denmark so he really had no reason to worry about it, instead enjoying the combined feel of the ship rocking from side to side and the constant vibration of the main engine.

Coming back from the rear of the bridge after having jotted down their position on the paper charts (something the Captain insisted on doing every fifteen minutes in case their electronic charts failed), the parrot offered his colleague a cup of coffee before sitting down in the navigator’s chair.

Geert reached for the controls of the radar to adjust its rain clutter. Weather like that sometimes sent false echoes in the receiver and he had no patience to deal with that. After he turned up the control, the large ring of yellow dots from the rain drops around their ship disappeared.

“Quiet watch uh?” Ivan commented.

“Without traffic and fishermen to dodge all the time? That was to be expected.” Geert said, still observing the radar.

He could see some dots at medium range behind them, which coincided with the offshore platforms they knew of, as well as one very large yellow mass on eastern the edge of the radar screen. The mainland.

“I wouldn’t complain you know. “ Geert added. “I’d rather have that kind of watch than a crossing of the Channel. Better for my nerves.”

“Somehow I doubt that one traffic lane would cause as much trouble at the moment.” Ivan said. “What with the lack of ferries to cross your path.”

“You’re right, but I’ll stick to using the Dover Strait as a reference in terms of high traffic, Apocalypse be damned.” The parrot countered. “Present traffic or not you do have to admit mentioning it immediately makes you think of a cluttered sea lane.”

“Fair enough.” The osprey griffon nodded. “But it wasn’t the worst in the world either.”

“It doesn’t or rather didn’t have to be.” Geert halted to take a long swig of his coffee, the hot beverage burning its way down his throat in a half painful-half satisfying manner. “Mention it to any European sailor worth his salt and it will immediately bring memories of difficult maneuvers to life.”

“You never know, maybe for future generations that one difficult area will be somewhere else.”

“Future generations?” Geert scoffed. “Yeah right, as if the world has any future to look forward to.”

“A bit pessimistic don’t you find?”

“Because you see many folks around to justify a society in the future?” Geert drawled.

“There could be. In a way it probably will be up to us to rebuild, and I think us Ratings have a theory you Officers didn’t think of yet.” Ivan said, tapping his gloved talons against the helm.

“I’m all ears dear; by all means feel free to lay out that theory for me.” The Dutchman said, only partially sarcastic.

Eh, sometimes ratings do come up with something brilliant.

“So here’s the thing. We reappeared about nine hours after the Event, and then we know of the Corporal who apparently woke up… I don’t remember but it must have been a day or two. And now? Someone just pops up more than two weeks after us. I got a few shipmates who would back me up on that: people are reappearing at different times after the cataclysm.”

That… was not as ridiculous as he had first thought.

“Are you implying more people will come back as time goes on?” Geert asked, crossing his arms.

“And if we’re anything to go by they will come back with the vehicle they were in at the time of the Event.”

“That could have a big impact on our search for survivors if that’s true… Mind if I bring it up to the Captain on your behalf later?” The parrot said.

“Go ahead; he’ll take you more seriously than a regular Rating.” Ivan said.

“Thanks.” Geert concluded before turning back to the ECDIS screen by his seat.

On the screen, he could see the black arrow symbolizing their ship move along on a northerly course.

Hours later, in the confines of an abandoned German traffic monitoring center, a screen came to life after finally detecting a change in variables. After weeks of inactivity, a set of data appeared on screen, witnessed by none but a single rat nibbling on biscuits left behind by the center’s former operators.

AIS transponder detected:

IMO number: 7125706

Position: N 54° 02’73

E 007° 56’85

Status: ……………………..

Elsewhere in the building, another rat chomped on a cable, ending its life and shorting out the entire building.

Chapter 22: The German Bight

Something has gone wrong. We don't seem to have an archived copy of that chapter.

Chapter 23: Back on Track

While Vadim was (unsuccessfully) attempting to soothe the nerves of an angry Captain up on the bridge, Angelo and Aleksei had made their way down to the engine room. Along the way, they passed the stacked barges and tugboats the ship was loaded with, each secured soundly by large steel cell guides. Except for them and the gargoyle guiding them, the red painted decks of the vessel were completely deserted.

“I’m curious Pavlos, I thought barge carriers like that had been driven out of the industry by legislation. How come it looks so…”

“New?” The black furred gargoyle said. “It’s not. The hull dates back to the seventies, but a Nigerian operator bought it in 2012 before it was scrapped. The ship got a complete makeover with modern tech and equipment. Barge carriers still aren’t viable in Europe…”

“… But in Africa they are. Got it.” The minotaur nodded. “Gotta give it to the yard that modernized it though: that’s some flawless work for a ship that old.”

“Believe me: she very much is an old lady.” Pavlos told them. “The hull may have been strengthened to compensate for metal fatigue and the equipment and all modernized, but the age still seeps through.” The gargoyle stopped by the funnels and opened a watertight door in the structure. “For one I keep hearing the engineering guys complain about capricious transmission, which I hope isn’t the problem right now otherwise we’re toast.”

Angelo took one last look at the stacked barges in their holding bays, with some tugboats towering high above them, ready to be lifted and deployed by the ship’s gantry crane… Had they had the crew to man them. Sadly, most of their crews were sulking inside their cabins at the moment. Aleksei took the lead and headed down into the engine room.

Going down into the depths of the vessel, they followed the large pipes of the ship’s exhaust on a narrow steel staircase. The funnel itself was hollow, with a cluster of pipes running down its center and the staircase wrapping around the pipes, a thin layer of insulation being the only thing that protected passing sailors from burning themselves on the hot pipes. About halfway down, they passed the scrubber unit on that side of the vessel. The large exhaust gas cleaning system was currently inactive, but vibrations coming from deeper in the vessel told the two engineers from Amandine that at least one generator must have been active, otherwise the vessel would have had her systems run silently on emergency batteries (if she had any). What they didn’t miss either was how disturbingly quiet the place was for an engine room.

At the height of the scrubbers, the staircase finally leveled into a catwalk passing over some subsystems. The water purification and sewage systems, if this crew utilized the same color code as the engineering department on Amandine did. The exhaust pipes curved at that point to disappear deeper into the vessel, cutting through a couple bulkheads.

Pavlos lead them further along the catwalk and through a couple watertight doors before they finally reached the control room, the noise and vibrations of the power plant increasing every time they passed through a bulkhead and got closer to the core of the vessel. Much like that of Amandine, the control room benefitted from modern systems and a glass panel overlooking the propulsion unit. Unlike on Amandine however, the place was much more cramped, thanks in no small part to having to fit inside of an engineering compartment that had been built decades earlier.

Two creatures were present when they entered: a batpony stallion and a female griffon. The batpony, like the unicorns on the bridge, was naked after having shrunk so much from the change his coveralls fell off. This made the copper wire symbol on his hindquarters very visible above his black fur. The guy had a blue mane tied behind his head by a rubber band, as well as a pair of ear defenders on his ears to protect them from the noise of the engine room.

At least that’s what Angelo assumed. If bats had sensitive hearing, then so would have batponies, right?

As for the female griffon, she was covered in a partially torn set of white and green coveralls (apparently the norm on that ship) that let out her wings and tail; and she had also discarded her badly fitted steel-toed boots. She was a mix of peregrine falcon and snow leopard, with three violet stripes on each side of her head.

The batpony was using his nose to flip the pages of a manual laid out in front of him, apparently trying to work out how to fix the propulsion issues while his colleague was using the control computers to take a look at the systems. The noise from the door opening made them turn away from the task, easily noticing the newcomers. The batpony was the first to react, eagerly jumping to his hooves and unsteadily stumbling over to Aleksei and Angelo.

“Are you guys the engineers that were sent to help?” He asked hopefully. “I’m Johann, and this is Anton.” He said, pointing to the female griffon.

Great, another sailor that had won a free sex change. The list of victims was starting to get quite long; maybe they should look into rescuing a shrink at some point?

“We’re here to help. What’s the situation?” Aleksei took the lead and immediately asked the batpony while Angelo walked closer to the glass panel to take a look at the propulsion systems.

A short explanation by Johann –who was apparently the ship’s resident electrician- told them Rhine Forest was propelled by a diesel electric drive. The ship’s original steam turbine from the seventies had been stripped and replaced by a couple diesel generators of varying sizes. They had half a dozen large generators totaling twenty-four megawatts of power, as well as six smaller one megawatt generators for general appliances and subsystems they used while in port. The large generators sent their power through a central switchboard that played the role of a transmission before connecting to the motors that drove the ship’s two azimuth thrusters.

Turns out, there had been a whole lot of panic in there shortly after they reappeared. In the confusion they accidentally struck a couple buttons and sent some systems in the red, one of which just happened to be the central switchboard which immediately activated its emergency shutdown. A handful other systems had been affected as well, including the hydraulic power pack which led to a decrease in internal pressure for most pump systems.

They were lucky the automation processes activated one of the smaller diesel generators that had been prepped before departure in case the bigger ones let them down; otherwise they would have had a complete blackout right then. One of the engineering guys had turned into some sort of black and white hedgehog creature and left to get help, but a call on the interphone had later told them the guy had been roped into helping other victims.

A quick discussion with Aleksei brought them to the conclusion they would have to inspect the switchboard for damage before reconnecting it due to not knowing exactly what had been done to cause the ESD in the first place. The hydraulics would need a restart as well, but since no alarm had sprung up they assumed it would be easy to achieve. They communicated an estimation of how long it would take to Vadim on the bridge – about two hours- before telling Pavlos they were ready to proceed.

“I wanna start with the hydraulics; we’ll need them to run the fuel pumps on the main generators before they can be restarted. How much power does that system need?” Aleksei asked the electrician.

“One more generator should do the trick if we don’t want to cause a blackout. We had another backup ready, want me to start it?”

“Yes please. I doubt the guys up on the bridge would be too happy if we cut their power right now.” The hippogriff said before moving to head down into the deeper parts of the engine room, only to be momentarily stopped by Anton. The female griffon had been silent up until then, only responding to instructions from Johann with short nods or grunts.

“Can I ask you…” The former guy still wasn’t very comfortable with his new tone of voice obviously. “… Were you?”

“Male before the change? I was, yes.” Aleksei nodded. “It’s… hard to get used to I’m afraid.” She said in sympathy. “But remember you’re not alone in this. Some on your crew are in the same situation as you are and believe me; it’s worth it to rely on each other to get through that.” She told the falcon headed griffon before patting her on the shoulder.

“And there’s nothing you can do about it?”

“Nothing so far despite our best attempts at looking for a solution.” That was a bit of a white lie, they didn’t exactly look for a solution. Not that they had any actual lead on that to begin with…

“But I had a girlfriend back home.” Anton complained. “What is she gonna think when she sees me uh… like that? I can’t even please her anymore. In fact am I even…”

“…Still attracted to girls?” Aleksei completed the sentence. Anton just nodded. “It… varies actually. Some got to keep their sexual orientations intact, I didn’t.” The light green feathers on her face barely concealed her blush. “That was… weird to discover, and I’m not even the only one. In fact I’d say I’m not even that attracted to humans anymore. It’s up to you to find out really. As for your girlfriend… this cataclysm made almost everyone disappear. In three weeks you’re the third group we meet, and we’ve been looking.”

“B-but… my family? My friends?” The griffon stuttered, falling down on his haunches.

“I’m sorry.” Aleksei said with a shake of her head. “You’ve got to look on the bright side: if you hadn’t been sailing at the time of the Event you’d probably have reappeared alone in a deserted town with monsters roaming about.” A movement on the edge of her sight made her stop for a moment; Angelo was by the airlock to the generator room motioning for her to move on. “So yeah, I don’t know how well you and your shipmates get along but do try to stick together. Best make friends with them if you want any advice.” She concluded before moving to follow the waiting minotaur.

Elsewhere on the ship, one goshawk griffon made his way down a couple flights of stairs, following the instructions given to him to locate the infirmary. Rhine Forest’s accommodation was significantly roomier than that of Amandine, but it was also less… richly decorated: the floors were covered in cheap checkered vinyl flooring and the walls painted white with a green line at shoulder height (for a biped that is, for Boris the line was way above him). Despite the length of passageways he traversed, the Russian didn’t encounter a single soul despite sounds of activity coming from adjacent rooms.

Boris understood they may have been under shock from the change but they had a ship to take care of for Christ’s sake! Did they really expect their vessel to stop dead in the water just because they couldn’t get used to the change quick enough?

Just as expected, a door with a red cross on it was in the place they had indicated. The griffon made his way inside without knocking, for all the difference that would make. Much like he had witnessed in the passageways, there was more room than on Amandine. In fact that particular infirmary was a lot bigger than theirs with three times as many beds and much more equipment than them; even if he counted the upgrades they had made using equipment from the military clinic.

And here Boris thought theirs was a good one. Rhine Forest’s was even unusually large for a merchant vessel, much less for one her age. The amount of equipment around was far more extensive than what was legally required. It was clear from how the place looked that this particular modification didn’t date back to the vessel’s first days: the room had the characteristic appearance of a retrofitted compartment despite the brand new equipment inside. Boris was even pretty sure one machine he spotted in a corner of the room was a portable X-ray machine, and from the looks of it they might even have a single hyperbaric chamber for divers.

There were ten beds in the long room: nine hidden behind curtains, and one close by the entrance that was equipped for advanced care, maybe even surgery. Many shelves and cabinets cluttered the walls, as well as some machines that had been secured with bungee cords. Each of the beds had some monitoring equipment fitted to it, the data feeding back into a computer inside the doctor’s office, which was separated from the rest at the end of the miniature clinic. Despite the sheer size of the infirmary, all this gear managed to make the place somewhat cramped, with just enough room between the shelves and the beds to let a single gurney pass.

There was also a door just by the entrance labeled ‘quarantine’ as well as a locker with biohazard and rad hazard symbols on it.

Guessing as to where he would find the apparently injured doctor, the griffon headed for the office, making his way past closed curtains hiding injured crewmembers, of which he counted five occupied beds. As he walked, wafts of disinfectant and chemicals hit the nostrils at the base of his beak, almost making him sneeze. Gee, someone in here must really like his workspace disinfected.

The doctor’s office was connected to the rest of the infirmary by an observation window with its blinds shut tight and a thin door that had been left ajar. Knocking on the door with a gloved claw, Boris made his way inside without waiting for an answer. The office held the expected desk, computer and filing cabinets as well as a refrigerated safe which must have held the riskier drugs the vessel carried. A transparent refrigerator next to it held some of their less secure medicine, as well as some blood bags. There was also a dental chair crammed in there, as if that medical wing didn’t already have enough gear. Were they planning to run an entire hospital in Lagos or what?

On a second thought, were he to sail to Nigeria he wouldn’t want to rely on local hospitals either.

Amidst all that gear, a tall, thin orange hippogriff with a blue mane of feathers on her head was sitting behind the desk, her position showing she had yet to familiarize herself with how to sit in that new body. The female, much like Pavlos when he came to greet them, was clad in a set of poorly fitted and partially torn white and green coveralls. On each of her shoulders were patches representing a caduceus over a red cross that designated her as the doctor he was supposed to meet. She had one forearm cradled against her chest with a pained look on her beak.

The moment the Russian stepped in, the doctor turned her head toward him, feathery ears raised in slight surprise.

“Greetings doc, I’m Boris from M/V Amandine, here to offer medical assistance. The Officers on the bridge told me you had injured crewmembers.”

The hippogriff stared at him through purple eyes for a few seconds, head subtly cocked to one side.

“You’re no actual medic.” She said calmly in a French accent. That wasn’t even a question.

“No, we have our Third Officer along; he’s got some actual training and a measure of experience with creatures like us but right now he’s busy up on the bridge.”

“And what’s more important than treating the wounded?” She asked.

“Keeping us from sailing into wind turbines that’s what. I’m his assistant. I can’t say I’m the best at this and in fact I’m pretty new to the job but until our situation is secure on a navigational level then I’m all you have.” The Russian said.

The doctor’s eyes met those of the griffon, both of the avian chimeras holding a sort of staring contest for a few tense seconds before a small smile appeared on the creases of the hippogriff’s beak.

“You, I like you.” She said. “I’d shake your hand… err, claw rather, but my good arm isn’t in any shape to do that at the moment.” She shrugged on her injured side to show off the injury, only to stop the motion halfway with a pained hiss. “I’m Doctor Delacroix, Medical Officer, but you can just call me Camille. Delacroix makes me sound like an old lady.”

“Well met then. Now what can a barely qualified sailor do to help you?”

“Your colleague, he can do stitches and plasters, right?” Boris nodded. “That’s a relief then. We’re gonna need to do a few radios, including on me.”

“Just that?”

“Of course not. Then I need you to clean the patients’ wounds, disinfect and all, then prep the terrain for your colleague, make sure they’re all stable ‘cause I don’t have a single clue what parameters I should expect from them…”

“…Ok fine, got it. Lotsa work.” Boris cut her off. “Do I need to bring the machine here for your radio?”

Camille gave him a flat look, to which the griffon responded by sheepishly slipping away to get the machine he had already identified on his way in.

Helping the Frenchwoman scan her own injured limb and put together a temporary cast so she could hop around her ward on three limbs was done in a matter of minutes. She would need a better, more permanent plaster to hold her broken limb once Vadim was free but the temporary measure was sufficient in the meantime.

Addressing the matter of the other injured in the infirmary took much longer. Most of the casualties suffered after their return were gender bent sailors that had panicked more than others after the change and injured themselves in the process. Boris could understand the logic: Vadim may not have been present to witness it when they woke up but many of his own shipmates had almost broken before helpful sailors like Ajit had gotten to them.

And here was an example of what would have happened had the Indian dog not helped his fellow sailors. Maybe he ought to offer the guy some excuses after having called him ‘naively friendly’. Maybe.

Camille told Boris they still had to run a head count to identify exactly who was who on this ship, but she was at least certain of who had been brought inside her infirmary. One of their priority patients was the ship’s Chief Engineer, a guy by the name of Erik Jakobs. Contrarily to some of the patients there, the guy hadn’t panicked and actually did his best to reach the engine room. Unfortunately, he had turned into a centaur (of all things), and having to manage all those limbs at once made him loose his footing and fall down a flight of stairs.

The guy- or actually, Boris should say mare once he got a closer look at the patient- was unconscious from the fall. Tattered coveralls covered his upper humanoid body leaving the other half, that of a bay pony, bare. The creature was in no way as big as an actual horse. In fact, even the humanoid half was noticeably smaller than the equivalent on a human, though he was still significant in size (if Boris were to hazard a guess, he should be about as heavy as Angelo).

Weirder even, was the fact that the humanoid half, if similar to a human, was still very much unique. The centaur boasted a bright tomato red skin tone. The skin color came with some large mobile ears on top of the centaur’s head and a mane of jet black hair that not only grew out of the guy’s head but the back of his neck as well.

Even more bizarre was the fact that the Chief Engineer, despite having definitely turned into a mare (and Boris wished he hadn’t looked), didn’t have breasts. Sure, the humanoid half had all the curves you would come to expect from a female human, but not even a nipple. Instead, the pony half had teats in the usual place.

“Ah doc, I’m afraid that kind of transformation’s new to me. Don’t have centaurs like him on our ship.” Boris apologized after making sure the unconscious patient was properly settled on the bed, which was no easy task with such a body shape and weight.

“Really? Guess we’re both learning something new then.” She looked at the parameters screen above the bed. “Breathing is stable, heartbeat is… slow-ish but then again he’s unconscious.”

“He lost consciousness from the fall? As in, brain damage?”

“No, shock. He fainted after the bosun brought him in and the adrenaline wore off. Panic attack you see, poor fella hadn’t fully realized what happened yet.” Camille explained.

“Rough. What’s he got?”

“Wrist injury, most likely a fracture but we need a radio to tell that. I see two nasty bruises both on his humanoid and equine flank so that may be some cracked ribs and that gash on his shoulder under the bandages.”

Turns out, the ribs were more than just cracked. The centaur mare had suffered from several broken ribs in his fall. The wrist was also broken, which was added to the growing list of plasters Vadim would need to make. Once he had done everything he could on the Chief Engineer, Boris turned to the doctor, awaiting further instructions. The mare hadn’t awoken in the process… or plainly chose to ignore the strange griffon taking care of his injuries.

“Next one?” Boris asked, earning a nod from the doctor.

The griffon left the side of the centaur, pulling the curtain behind him to allow the patient privacy.

Technology can achieve wonders sometimes. In this case it wasn’t really much of a wonder though, just extremely convenient. Thanks to satellite communications, Vadim was able to request the passage plan to Copenhagen from Amandine and copy it onto Rhine Forest’s ECDIS once their Captain agreed to follow them to the Danish capital city. That decision required a bit of a push on the radio from Dilip but it was still remarkably easy to convince the German Captain to do such a drastic change in his plans.

Vadim doubted there would have been any point for the barge carrier to keep sailing towards Lagos in such circumstances anyway.

“So you were after a survivor in Copenhagen?” Captain Gerig asked, the pink teenaged mare was now awkwardly sitting in the Captain’s chair.

“Lyngby to be precise. Apparently she’s a radio operator at that coast station. Problem is… we gotta hurry there because she’s surrounded by monsters. Helping you was necessary and I certainly wouldn’t call it a mistake, but it may come at a risk to her life.” Vadim explained while reviewing the altered passage on the computer.

“Then we’d better get this ship back on track soon.” Gerig said. “Josselin!” He barked. “What’s the status in the engine room?” He asked the brown unicorn stallion.

Rhine Forest’s Third Officer was busy at the back of the bridge using the interphone to make calls around the vessel. Or rather, Carla was. The female cadet turned male hippogriff was being used as an extra set of hands by her superior.

“Hydraulics rebooted and pressure in the green sir. They’re checking out the main switchboard for damage before attempting a restart. Time to restart… about an hour.”

“More than enough to finish adapting the passage plan then.” Vadim commented. “Does this berth suit you Captain?” He proposed to the pink unicorn, tapping a talon against a waypoint on the electronic chart screen.

“Looks satisfactory. We will have to be careful with our draft in the entrance channel but it should be doable.” Gerig said gruffly. “Next to your own I presume?”

“Aye. I think your crew is going to require a fair bit of assistance to get accustomed to the change, adapt ergonomics, and get gear. We can help with that.” Vadim said as he finished charting the passage on the computer, hitting the ‘confirm’ button with a satisfied trill.

“You guys been hard at work doing that?”

“I’d say. Of course the simpler parts like adapting our clothes, shoes and gloves were done rather quickly but you can finish it even faster if we pass you the templates. Then you’ve got modifications to equipment like the SCBA’s which require some pretty advanced mods to be applied to the gas masks, or even simpler advice from the cooks on diet. Hygiene even. We can help, even if we’re still discovering stuff ourselves. Did you know you were vegetarian for one?”

“Doesn’t take a genius to guess that Zinoviya.” The little mare said with a raised brow.

“But do you know how repulsed vegetarian species tend to be by the smell of meat?” Vadim added, earning a confused look from the Captain. “Yes, there are specificities to the whole thing, like how fish affects vegetarians less, but we also had to modify our cooking system. Spices in the food circumvent the smell problem and allow both types of creatures to eat in the same place at the same time. Of course there is also the problem that some species have a more sensitive palate, others less. Takes time getting used to, but it’s necessary.”

“Are you implying that spicy food is necessary for wildly different species to cohabit in the same mess hall?”

“Ridiculous I know? But eh, even the dumbest solutions can work sometimes. In this case, eye watering curry just happened to be the best we could think of.” Vadim shrugged.

The griffon and the unicorn lapsed into silence for a moment, Vadim looking out of the bridge towards the silhouette of Amandine off in the distance. They had picked the boat back up a while ago and were now holding at a respectable distance on the starboard side of the drifting barge carrier. With his sharp eyes, the Ukrainian could spot Geert on one of the bridge wings, the parrot accompanying a unicorn with an olive green sweater. Other sailors were present on the main deck, including the easily recognizable silhouette of Artyom. The blue dragon was preparing the lines for an emergency towing in case Angelo and Aleksei failed to restart the engine.

In the back of the bridge, Josselin and Carla were busily calling each cabin to run a headcount and make sure they hadn’t lost anyone in the confusion. Irritated voices were coming out of the interphone, but they were progressing in making an updated crew list just like Dilip had done when they had woken up right after the Event.

Eavesdropping on the calls led to hearing some… genuinely odd conversations where Josselin attempted to coax information out of bewildered shipmates that hadn’t left their cabin since the ship had reappeared. Straight up asking them if they were still of the same gender made for some interesting reactions, particularly when the Officer moved on to the Liberian and Congolese crewmembers. In one particular case one crewmember was even using his mouth to manipulate the interphone, having turned into a sphinx.

“You know you’re gonna have to redo the pictures on their files, right?” Vadim asked after a crewmember was done describing what he looked like on the interphone. A guy from Liberia that had turned into a cat apparently.

“Stopgap measure.” Josselin told Amandine’s Third Officer. “You overheard it all. Most of them don’t even want to get out of their cabin for now. That’s the most I can coax out of them besides telling them to adjust their coveralls.”

“They’re gonna have to come out eventually, willingly or not.”

“Much as I appreciate your advice Zinoviya I think my Officer knows this crew more than you do.” Captain Gerig said. “It’s been a mere hours since they changed. We can't expect them to instantly get back on their feet. Give them some time.”

Yeah right, and what would have happened if Amandine wasn’t around to rescue them? One big wreck in the middle of the German Bight that’s what. Vadim thought.

Minutes later, they received a call from Angelo in the engine room telling them the engines were ready, followed by a whining sound coming from the stern. The generators were online, and the controls at the helm lit up once more. The Captain swiftly ordered Carla back behind the helm while Vadim moved towards the radio station.

“Amandine, this is Rhine Forest, propulsion issues are solved, and we are now underway. Over.” He said as he watched the hippogriff slowly increase the throttle to the third ahead mark.

No need to go full ahead just yet, Angelo would have his hide if he asked too much of the generators he had just restarted. With her propulsion back online, Rhine Forest was finally able to change her heading and point her bow straight north as she slowly picked up speed.

The azimuth thruster system may have issues with changing the heading without power, but the mechanism sure delivered when it was online: Vadim had seldom seen ships this long maneuver with such ease.

“Impressed?” Captain Gerig said with a smug smile.

“Never seen that kind of propulsion on ocean going ships before. She must be a dream to bring to quay with maneuverability like that.” The griffon commented honestly. “Thought they only used that on tugs before…”

“There are many things unique with my ship.” The pink mare said with a smile. “And I couldn’t be prouder of having been minted as her Captain.”

Vadim’s eyes followed the wind turbines they were passing off in the distance. The same ones they had been at risk of hitting minutes earlier. He could see a cluster of them having stopped turning, now laden with flocks of seagulls.

“What were you guys going to do in Lagos anyway? The more I look at your ship the more I think it was more than just freight transportation.”

“Because it wasn’t for freight.” Gerig explained. “The Nigerian Association of Petroleum Explorationists or NAPE has been… or rather had been investing in extensive offshore installations. They wanted a vessel like Rhine Forest to become a large scale offshore construction support unit. With her fleet of barges, the tugs and her dynamic positioning system she’s able to set up some extensive floating infrastructure out at sea. Makes the installation of platforms a hell of a lot easier. She’s kind of a… test bed for such tech if you will. You don’t need a fleet of offshore support vessels with her around: she can have the tugs transport barges to and from the nearest harbor for supplies, provide accommodation for the workers during the installation and the barges can be used to link installation units or even be equipped with cranes.”

“A mothership then?” Vadim asked, head tilted slightly.

“In a fashion, yes.” The pink unicorn nodded. “Even I have to admit barge transportation was inefficient compared to containers or roll-on/roll-off, but Rhine Forest could extend her life in a niche industry like that.”

They waited a couple minutes until the generators were sufficiently warmed up before increasing their speed to fifteen knots. To Vadim it was a bit odd to steer a ship from a position so far forward, him being more accustomed to the bridge being aft on the vessel like Amandine’s and most cargo vessels’. Nevertheless, Rhine Forest took position in a convoy of sorts half a mile behind Amandine, both vessels now headed towards the entrance to the Baltic Sea. A quick call on the interphone with Angelo to check if the propulsion was stable later (and it was), Vadim excused himself from the bridge to head towards the infirmary, Angelo and Aleksei now heading there as well.

Leaving the Captain with the cadet and the Third Officer on the bridge would be fine, as long as the hippogriff behind the helm remained calm. Their route wasn’t going to cross any obstacle for the next twelve hours, and by then someone should have bothered to leave their cabin and relieve them.

If not, they had the bosun to drag someone by their tail to the bridge. Navigational duties took priorities over wallowing in self-pity.

Vadim walked inside the infirmary to the sight of Boris and an orange hippogriff consoling a grief stricken… hedgehog? The creature lying in the infirmary bed was clad in the same coveralls as the rest of the crew of Rhine Forest, with the addition of Red Cross patches on her shoulders. Both her legs were splinted and she had a bandage wrapped around her head, but that didn’t change the uniqueness of the creature.

In a way you could have said she was similar to the other anthropomorphic bipeds they had on their own crew, except based on another species altogether. But that would have done a disservice to the creature lying on the bed: what Vadim was looking at was a being covered in coarse charcoal grey colored fur. Like the cats and dogs on Amandine she had digitigrade feet, balanced by a long tail that ended in a tuft of white quills that poked through a hole in the back of her coveralls. Her arms were rather thick, but nowhere near as much as those of dogs like Dilip, Ajit and Rahul, though Vadim bet she could still deliver impressive punches if backed into a corner. She still had hands, each equipped with four stubby digits that ended in black blunt claws. Not exactly ideal, but Vadim would reliably bet she could manage manipulating objects once she got some experience with those hands.

The part that had made the griffon think hedgehog was the white quills that grew on her head and the upper half of her back like a mane of sorts. Her head was very much changed from that of a human, with a more elongated skull that ended in a stubby snout with a black wet canine nose. Her talking to Boris in an agitated manner allowed Vadim to peek at some small but sharp teeth inside her mouth. On the sides of her head were two large black ears, mobile like those found on many species after the change.

But the most unsettling part of the… hedgehog-esque creature (hedgefolk maybe?) was her eyes: while many of the species had had their eyes changes, they still had somewhat normal eyes (as in: that could be found naturally on animals). What the griffon saw however was that the sclera of the creature’s eyes was electric blue instead of white. That didn’t mean they were monstrous or inexpressive, just… odd.

Vadim let out a polite cough to grab their attention, making the hippogriff immediately turn around to face him, purple eyes drifting to the ranks on his orange coveralls.

“You’re the Third Officer?” Camille asked.

“Aye that would be me. Just call me Vadim.” He said before motioning towards the bedridden hedgehog with his beak. “What’s with her?”

“Marta is my assistant and also a certified nurse, contrarily to yours.” She said, eliciting a cry of protest from Boris. “I’m sorry but that’s true.” She told the Russian. “Good as you are you’re still no professional.”

“And neither am I.” Vadim said. “Unfortunately in these times there aren’t that many medics to pick from. Back to Marta then, what happened to her, transformation notwithstanding?”

“A centaur fell on her.” Camille answered immediately. “One broken leg and a sprained ankle, plus a nasty concussion to go with it.” She explained. “Your assistant can do a lot but we still need you for plasters, stitches, and any procedure I can’t do myself.”

And that took a lot of time. Vadim may have improved in the last few weeks, what with the increasing frequency at which people were getting hurt on Amandine, but he still was a Deck Officer first and Medic second despite his colleagues’ growing tendency to call him Doc (to which he always protested). Stitches took him a lot of time to make, particularly when he had an actual doctor breathing over his neck. On the bright side, Doc Delacroix could remain polite when she gave criticism and he actually learned a few tips as he worked through the patients inside the infirmary.

Among said patients was the Chief Engineer who woke up when he treated him, as well as the sailor that had been at the helm when the ship reappeared. The latter had been in the helmsman’s seat and had turned into a centaur upon reappearing, which was an extremely ill fit for such a position. Much like the Chief Engineer, he injured himself by falling down some stairs and on the hedgehog nurse that had come out of her cabin at the wrong time.

The particularity with that sailor was that unlike the Chief Engineer, who had an equine lower half, his was more in line with that of a red-tailed doe.

Yes, a doe, with the other implication that followed considered he was called Lars. The guy hadn’t been too pleased to be told that, not having fully realized the extent of the change until he opened his mouth.

Another patient was a deck cadet by the name of Sebastien that had been stowing gear on deck before the Event struck. Poor guy injured himself badly when the winch he had been using snapped on him because he lost control of the brake. His case was concerning, the cadet having lost a lot of blood from his injury before a colleague found him unconscious by the fore mooring station. In a way, him being unconscious was fortunate because he wouldn’t get as much of a rough awakening as the others.

Oh, and of course the unicorn he had turned into just had to be a mare, as Vadim discovered when he inserted a catheter in the unconscious patient’s marehood. All patients inside the infirmary were either naturally born female or guys-turned-gals. For an instant Vadim would have thought Rhine Forest had suffered from more crewmembers swapping gender than Amandine, but when the stats were calculated it was actually the contrary: a higher percentage on board of Amandine had swapped gender.

The last patient Vadim went through was a very grumpy Greek barge pilot called Nikolaos. The reason he was so grumpy? He had turned into a white furred minotaur with black spots here and there; except it happened to be a female minotaur, the sight of which had made the Ukrainian griffon release an impressed whistle. This only served to earn him a nasty glare from the minotaur but damn if it wasn’t justified.

As it appeared, females minotaurs were almost as muscular as their male brethren, in a taller package. The… cow probably, had a mop of curly black hair on top of her head from which poked a pair of small horns pointing downwards next to her large white ears. A more rounded, narrower muzzle and less sharp angles allowed to immediately identify that particular individual as female.

But the part that made the Ukrainian whistle… Well, let it be said that Vadim was very much a fan of Matt Groening’s work, and what laid before his eyes immediately made him think of the ‘death by snu-snu’ line. That minotaur had the curves of an Amazon and the rippling muscles just beneath the skin to back it up. Chiseled abs lay just below what was honestly a massive pair of tits (eh, turns out female minotaurs don’t have udders, Angelo owed him a bottle of rum) framed by tight pectoral muscles. A thin waist was followed by wide hips that connected to muscular thighs the likes of which couldn’t have been found on the best bodybuilder before the Event.

Honestly it was a shame that body was that of a former male, not that Vadim minded since he was more into griffons (which had taken him long enough to realize in the first place, thanks subconscious mind).

Apparently the Greek had been working on electrical equipment in his tugboat when the Event hit, which resulted in him almost getting stuck inside a cramped compartment from the drastic change in size. Extracting himself from the space had resulted in a cracked horn that was bleeding rather profusely, as well as several long scrapes and gashes along his flank and one nasty looking burn on his forearm caused by the soldering iron he had been using.

“Holy cow!” Aleksei said, coming up just behind Vadim, her remark only serving to further sour the minotaur’s mood.

Wait, if the hippogriff was there then her superior couldn’t be far behind and he would rather not try the female minotaur’s reaction to seeing another Greek not get fucked over by the transformation lottery. The griffon quickly made a ‘wait a minute’ gesture to the barge pilot before pulling the curtain around his bed and casually walking over to the Second Engineer who was having some idle talk with Boris by now.

“Eh Angelo you gotta see th-“ Aleksei tried only for Vadim to stop her sentence halfway by grabbing both mandibles of her beak in one claw.

“He’s not gonna see anything.” Vadim said in a quiet voice, not wanting to be overheard by the female minotaur. “This place isn’t a freak zoo and that patient is under enough stress as is.” He told both engineers before releasing Aleksei’s beak, the Latvian hippogriff giving him a mild glare.

“Look Angelo, I’m on my last patient here.” He said, pointing a talon back towards the bed the barge pilot was in. “It’s gonna take a couple minutes but if you could go ahead and radio Amandine to send a boat to pick us up that would be great.” He then lowered his voice back down. “And I’m aware of that female minotaur jig but if you both could avoid talking about him out loud while he’s in the same room; that could avoid me getting deservedly punched in the face by a very angry and very muscular cow girl. Got it?”

Aleksei glare only lessened slightly while that phrase got a confused look out of Angelo. The minotaur made to ask a question but Vadim interrupted him with a quick ‘talk to you later’ before slipping away to take care of the last patient. He wanted to follow the griffon to see what the fuss was all about but an orange hippogriff shooed him out of the infirmary, telling him her patients ‘needed the quiet’ in a French accent.

It took a while for the guys on Amandine to gather the boat team to come get them. In that span of time, some more crewmembers finally emerged from their cabins to resume their duties. It wasn’t the whole crew somehow snapping out of it, but enough sailors that got their shit together as to keep their ship running until they hit port. Griffons and centaurs tentatively crept out of their cabins, all barefoot and clad in hastily refitted coveralls, but ready for work.

Some of the barge crews even pitched in to help the deck team (since apparently the barge crews and deck guys were two separate departments instead of one) prepare their future mooring operation, for which the boatswain looked visibly relieved. Most of the sailors working under Pavlos had either turned into quadrupeds or were injured in the infirmary, even when he counted the cadets. Fortunately, the barge department had a few healthy bipeds in store to assist, those being quicker to adapt to the changes.

The sailors of Amandine were soon back on their own vessel, the white and grey roll-on/roll-off taking the lead of their little two-ship convoy but keeping a sedate pace so as not to overwork the recently reappeared vessel that followed in their wake. Copenhagen was still quite far but they could see their goal approaching on their charts.

Within hours the ships had cleared the end of the Danish western shore, veering east before they got within sight of the Norse town of Kristiansand and thus entering the sea known as the Skagerrak. They kept to the center of the channel in hopes of receiving any kind of radio activity coming from Scandinavian shores… but the waves were once more silent after the reappearance of Rhine Forest.

Night came as they sailed on, with a clear weather and a mild breeze to accompany them as they went. They passed the Danish town of Skagen under clear skies that revealed the whole expanse of stars above them, unhindered by light pollution or any kind of cloud cover.

In yet another effort to locate survivors, the two ships continued east for a few miles before turning south so that they could get a look at the harbor of Gothenburg by early morning the next day. What they saw of the formerly important Swedish seaport had some of them worried as to what they may find in the future: Gothenburg benefitted from having a handful of automated lighthouses marking its entry channel, and they were barely visible through the murky yellow haze that seemed to cover the entire city. Had it not been for their navigational radar they would have missed it. Upon seeing this with the help of some sharp-eyed crewmembers, both ships made sure to steer clear of the city.

The chemical cloud coming from the town was in fact so thick they could spot it on their radars if they tuned them right. Gothenburg may not have been their objective but the sight still made their morale drop. If a European city like that fell to its own chemical industry, then what would become of other such industries around the world? Forget the petrochemical industry which had systems to vent and burn evaporated gas safely, the chemical sector just threw a wrench in their gears. They didn’t know if the catastrophe was caused by the chemical terminal or, more likely, a reactor inside one of the city’s factories, each possibility needing to be studied carefully for the implications they might bring.

It was with that attitude that they spent their morning and early afternoon crossing the Kattegat, the small sea being littered with small reefs and sandbanks that forced them to keep to its easternmost channels, the preferred choice for passing ocean-going vessels such as theirs.

By early evening the convoy finally reached the last stretch of their passage: the Öresund strait, with its entrance marked by the two facing cities of Helsingør on the Danish side and Helsingborg on the Swedish side. The first part of the strait was rather narrow: a mere two miles across, which allowed them to look at both cities in the fading light of the evening. On the Danish side was the Kronborg, an old castle and its surrounding fortifications built centuries ago by the Danish crown to keep watch over the strait and monitor any traffic that entered or left the Baltic Sea. An elaborate copper tower culminated over the fortified but richly decorated structure, its artfully constructed curves now only serving to house flocks of passing birds as its hollow windows gazed out towards the Kattegat.

On the Swedish side, they could spy the red bricks of the waterfront buildings of Helsingborg, the structures protected from the sea by the breakwater that wrapped in front of its beach, providing a safe haven from rough weather to any small ship that passed by, be she used for leisure or fishing.

To the sailors in the convoy, it was more than a nice view to go with the setting sun: them passing through that part of the strait meant they had an hour or two to go before they hit port. Activity rose on both ships as the crews prepared their mooring lines to secure their ship to the quays. On Amandine, their three sphinxes assembled with the rest of the sailors to go over their mooring plan while a boat team was being prepared on Rhine Forest, ready to go ashore and handle the large vessel’s mooring lines.

And while all that activity was taking place on deck, another group was preparing a rescue inside of Amandine’s holds. In the armory, a blue dragon with a VDV beret idly wondered if they would make it in time as he loaded rounds in his mags.

Sandra may have underestimated those monsters’ speed.

A window shattered downstairs as she struggled to push a desk against the door, closing off a staircase and blocking them from accessing the first floor. The desk wasn’t even that heavy, but that small equine body she found herself stuck with wasn’t exactly the strongest. Misjudging the speed at which they would breach the ground floor almost came at the cost of her life. The rec room she was using to store and cook her food as well as getting water from the tap was on the ground floor, and she had wanted to wait as long as possible before falling back to the first floor.

Seeing one of the dogs’ gleaming green eyes quickly made her rush up the stairs and accelerate her plans. With a buck from her rear hooves, she kicked another office chair on the pile of furniture before moving on. Crashing noises downstairs told her the monsters were making a mess looking for her and sorting through her supplies. Had she not retrieved a pair of noise cancelling headphones the little thestral would have been whimpering on the floor from the noise, such was the disadvantage of having ears so sensible they could perceive radio chatter. In addition to the headphones she had found a pair of aviator sunglasses she used at dawn and sunset because her night vision capable eyes were as good as blind during that time of the day. They were a poor fit for her head shape but it was better than using the echolocation that still eluded her.

Oh she was pretty sure she could do it. She had tried. It just so happened to be extremely confusing to use when coming from a species that usually relied on visual means.

She hadn’t had the time to retrieve her backpack from the rec room, and clad as she was in her birthday suit (so what? The fur kept her warm enough and it was almost summer anyway) she didn’t have anything on her except for her aviators and headphones. She would have to rely on the one can of tuna and bottle of water she had left in the control room.

More crashing was heard downstairs, as well as the sound of breaking glass. More monsters inside, but they were still looking for her. Noticing the creatures seemed heavily reliant on their sense of smell, she had made a point of leaving her scent all over the place by rubbing her flank against furniture here and there.

A pained yelp erupted above the barks and growls.

She had also left cans of surströmming around. Surely the monsters would appreciate her gift of canned Swedish herring.

The mare headed for one of the windows to take a look at what was going on outside. A writhing mass of living wood had invaded the parking lot, sadly trashing her poor Toyota as they passed. Her slitted eyes came to rest on one particularly large shape which soon rose above the others, almost as big as a forty-foot shipping container.

The giant wooden dog spotted her with its enormous eyes, letting out a furious roar which sent her scurrying inside the control room.

Author's Note

I've been working on making a blog post based on the ships of this story, a sort of ship presentation in which I can include the spreadsheets I use to keep track of crews, vessels and related pictures. The file's almost ready, but I need to wait 'til the next chapter so that I don't spoil anything.

Chapter 24: Firefight

Night had fallen by the time both ships pulled into the harbor of Copenhagen, sailing past the old Trekroner fort guarding the fairway. Minutes before they approached the quays, a small orange boat was lowered to the water by Rhine Forest, carrying their line handlers since the barge carrier’s sphinxes had yet to gain control of their telekinesis.

Both vessels headed for the quays of the container terminal, the area having been chosen because of how separated it was from the rest of the city. With the place’s original security measures, securing it should be an easy task. In addition, the easternmost berth of these quays was L-shaped, in such a manner that it would allow Amandine to lower her stern ramp, the biggest. It was Vadim who took the controls of the vessel this time to bring her in safely under the looming cranes of the terminal. The operation went by quickly in a well practiced manner. Soon enough, Amandine was secured tightly against the quay. A handful of sailors armed with rifles from the armory stayed on the main deck, carefully eyeing the line handlers Rhine Forest had deployed. They had yet to secure the terminal and Rhine Forest’s crew was completely unarmed, meaning they would have to be ready to provide some covering fire if a monster got the jump on them. Fortunately, it seemed no such creature had taken notice of the vessels entering the harbor.

Like many of its fellow northern cities, Copenhagen had an extensive renewable energy production, with a fair sized wind farm built half a mile off the coast of the city in a large arc comprising dozens of turbines. Some had already gone down to disuse as they had seen when they entered the harbor, but enough were still active to run most of the city’s street lights.

This cast an odd picture to both ships’ crews: on one side you had the street lights that were functioning, casting an orange glow over the city which, despite having been abandoned for almost a month, looked almost pristine. On the other side… hints that the city was but a shell of its former self were clear: unmanned boats that had broken out of their moorings and sunk in the middle of the canals, flower beds running wild with weeds, some street lights that had gone out or were flickering from lack of maintenance. The most jarring part was: only the street lights were active, everything else was just dark, from storefronts to apartment windows. Even the large star-shaped UN City building that they could observe from the quays of the container terminal was now nothing but a gigantic shadow that loomed over the smaller buildings around it.

The sailors of Rhine Forest quickly rigged their gangway to allow their line handlers back on board before the large barge carrier raised it back up. The newly reappeared crew had a lot to deal with before they could head out on expeditions like Amandine was about to. Captain Gerig’s crew was still reeling from their sudden reappearance, and the sailors of Amandine fully expected they would need a day or two before reaching full working order.

As for Amandine, a number of sailors moved off the main deck and towards the armory. They had a rescue mission to accomplish, and that wouldn’t come too soon.

One of their unimogs had been brought out of storage for that mission, the canvas covering its cargo bay removed. Since the trucks were the military variant they came with deployable benches in the back to allow for troop transport, with their central positioning allowing the passengers to look and fire out of the vehicle’s side with the canvas frame available as support. Since their departure from Antwerp, some more work had been done on the vehicles which were now fitted with additional headlights above the cabin and winches under their front and rear bumpers. The headlights in particular would come in handy very soon considering they were heading out at night.

Schmitt was the chosen Officer to lead the group, the pick being a no-brainer considering they knew they would be facing wood hounds. The more dragons they brought along, the better. The Chief Engineer might not have been the best shot of the crew but they only really needed him for fire support.

Then came Artyom, obviously. His place on the team hadn’t even been questioned, and he was even on the first team that had faced wood hounds way back in Zeebrugge. The blue dragon insisted on bringing Sri along, the Indonesian hippogriff being one of the only two crewmembers he could trust with the close-quarter fight he expected to occur inside the radio station. The other was Nikola; unfortunately the scarred gargoyle was still too injured to take part in the fight. He would have to rely solely on the Indonesian to watch his back inside; the other crewmembers were in no way sufficiently trained for that kind of fighting. Better leave them to watch the truck outside, having them follow the duo inside of a probably dark building was just asking for blue-on-blue.

That filled three slots on their team, which would have been enough according to their expedition procedures, but the Captain insisted on bringing extra hands along for the ride. Boris joined the team as the medic, and then came Ajit and Carlos, respectively the truck’s driver and turret gunner. Hopefully having six guns ready to shoot at the wood hounds would ensure nobody came back injured.

Inside the armory, Bart was handing out weapons for the group. Full-lethal loadout, with SCAR’s for Artyom and Sri while the rest got FNC’s. The unicorn had spent some time fitting flashlights to any weapon that had a picatinny rail, which unfortunately only comprised of the SCAR’s and their pistols. The rest would have to rely on the truck’s headlights and a couple road flares he passed around for the group to use in addition to their stun grenades. The group only took a single machinegun to mount on the truck’s turret, but that choice wasn’t much of a problem since their last encounter had proven 5.56 rounds were enough to bring down wood hounds.

Now the trick was to make them stay down. Bart handed the team a beer case filled with Molotov cocktails. The last technique of using ignited teargas might have been effective and he did give them some, but the projectiles should allow them to stay much further from the monsters than if they burned the remains using the spray (or dragon fire too for that matter). The Belgian soldier wished he could have gone along… but he was still injured, the gash on his neck only just starting to scar.

After all that weaponry came the rest: enough ammo boxes to wage a small war, the obligatory flak jackets and half a dozen walkie-talkies to stay in touch with the rest of the group. Those; combined with the truck’s own long range radio and their satellite phones would ensure they didn’t lose track of the team… and could radio the ship for backup if shit really started to hit the fan.

For them, now was no time for banter or jokes. The group gathered their gear and mounted their truck. The olive green unimog rolled closer to the stern ramp before coming to a stop next to the waiting Captain. Schmitt leaned over the side of the cargo bay, crossing eyes with his superior.

“Permission to leave the ship and proceed with the rescue, sir?” The orange female dragon asked.

“Granted.” Dilip said with a curt nod. “Alejandro, lower the ramp.” The pariah dog barked to his Chief Officer next to the ramp controls. “Stay safe Schmitt, I don’t want anyone coming back injured, ok?”

Schmitt made to answer the remark but just came up short. The female dragon closed his mouth and shook his head, a small puff of smoke escaping his nostrils. He wished he could make such a promise but they were knowingly heading into trouble. Instead, he settled for slapping the roof of the unimog, signaling for the driver to get them off the ramp. With a rumble of its diesel engine, the truck rolled off the ramp, disappearing in the darkness of the docklands.

“Alej’?” Dilip asked to the hyacinth macaw who was already lifting the ramp back up.

“Yeah?”

“Once you’re done with the ramp, go tell Vadim to prep the infirmary. Better safe than sorry. I’ll be keeping an eye on the radio station in case they need backup.” The dog told his Chief Officer before making his way towards the stairs.

Out of the corner of his eyes, the Indian spotted Geert order a few of the remaining sailors to prepare a Land Rover in case Schmitt’s team needed reinforcements, Bart being told to get some weapons ready just in case. That earned a smile from the Captain; their youngest Officer was starting to get more comfortable with his position and taking initiatives.

He would have to take note of that in his performance assessments, can’t forget those.

Her rescuers were coming. The antennas of the radio station had heard their chatter when they moored their ship in the port. She had heard them herself when she strained her ears, headphones momentarily dropping to her shoulders. She had even heard them talk about sending in their rescue team. She bit back a gleeful squeal. Finally, after eight days spent alone as a little horse she would get to talk to someone face to face! The little batpony’s webbed wings fluttered in joy at the prospect.

That cheerful mood was annihilated by the sound of a monster ramming against the control room’s reinforced door, making Sandra run under a desk and cower in fear. The creatures had been expedient in their hunt, her stunt with the canned Swedish herring apparently only serving to anger them.

Another bang came. The door held strong, it was supposed to. It had been made to keep the nerve center of the station as secure as possible. The problem was: how long could it sustain the repeated ramming? She had pushed two shelves against the door, but she doubted the flimsy furniture would do much once the doors were breached.

Her eyes came to a rest on the photo hanging on her cubicle, the sight of her baby sister soothing her nerves somewhat. As more creatures banged against the door, the mare closed her eyes and forced herself to think of happier days.

Lyngby really wasn’t that far from the port, situated only a twenty minute drive away from where they had moored the ships. In the back of the truck, Artyom decided to make use of that time to make sure everyone was up to snuff with what they were about to do.

“… so our target is what was described as a ‘little horse’ inside the radio station. She can speak English just fine so don’t hesitate to call out for her.”

“What’s her name anyway?” Boris asked from inside the cabin. There was a little window in the back of the cabin that allowed the griffon to communicate with the guys in the back.

“Sandra Jensen.” The dragon clarified. “Now the plan is for Sri and me to head inside and get her while you folks watch the truck and stay ready to get the fuck out. We’re not here to wage war against the wood hounds, so once we got Miss Jensen in our truck, it’s straight back to the ship. Got it?”

There was a murmur of assent from the team.

“Good. Now those wood hounds… Remember, once they’re down you only have seconds before they start to reassemble and get back up. That’s the time you have to torch the remains.”

“We can’t just set them on fire while they’re uh… active, so to speak?” Schmitt asked.

“I’m not saying you can’t Chief, but you probably don’t want to be pounced on by an irate, burning pile of timber, don’t you?” Artyom told. “Last time it just trashed around when I set it on fire, but that doesn’t mean I want to check out if the rest keeps up the offensive when you torch them.”

The orange dragon stared at the boatswain for a few seconds before replying with a curt ‘right’.

The team’s truck moved out of the docklands and into the town proper. The streets were illuminated by sodium lights hung above the avenues using wires in place of poles like in most cities, though some bulbs had already burned out since the Event struck. Their path took them through lines of warehouses by the docks, past some abandoned office buildings around the marina part of the port and finally inside of Copenhagen proper, most of the town being comprised of five to six story buildings with prominent red and beige hues. After less than a kilometer through the city, the truck passed a large power station built out of bricks with three prominent chimneys before it took a turn onto a highway, following the ‘Lyngby’ signage by the road. They drove for a minute before Artyom spoke up once more. The Russian was now distractedly tapping a claw against the side of his rifle, ears twitching ever so slightly.

“I just remembered something about the Molotov cocktails. I was told before we left that De Mesmaeker used a high ratio of diesel in the mix to go with the paint thinner.” He said.

“And what does that change?” Carlos asked. The sulphur-crested cockatoo was sitting inside the cabin under the turret hatch.

“Just saying: the slick they make will burn for a while, so don’t throw them on our escape route otherwise we will either be stuck waiting for the fire to go out or worse: set our tires on fire. And don’t throw them on the radio station.”

“Now that’s just wishful thinking. You really expect not to burn it down when you’re inside yourself?” Boris scoffed. “Come off it, you’re gonna lug around a fire extinguisher or something?”

Fair enough, the griffon did have a point; but that didn’t mean the rest of the team should do it as well. Needlessly setting the place on fire would only make it harder to evacuate their target.

The team progressed north along the highway, speeding though residential districts in the periphery of Copenhagen. Street lights were scarcer now, so Ajit turned on the extra headlights to see more clearly. Most of the buildings in the area were fairly low rise, rarely exceeding two stories in height except for the odd apartment block. Lines of sight were also rather short with numerous rows of trees and hedges separating houses and lining the sides of the roads. The suburban landscape gave off countryside vibes at times, the fact only increased by the now uncontrolled growth of the vegetation. The beige and red hues of downtown Copenhagen had been traded for a mostly green environment, frequently broken up by the orange of the roof tiles used in the area.

Ajit called out the two minutes mark as they passed a gas station and took a turn close to a park. Every member of the team took the chance to give their guns one last check, clicks resounding around the truck as they cocked them. In the cabin, Carlos opened the roof hatch and took control of the turret, making a ‘click-clack’ sound when he racked the cocking handle of the machinegun. Each member of the team then put on an earpiece that connected to their walkie-talkies, the device going under their ear defenders. Most of the creatures they had turned into had sensitive hearing, and firing without hearing protection was often enough to send them on their knees in pain.

“Remember, stick together and watch each other’s back.” Schmitt said over the radio, testing their connection in passing.

They were greeted by the sight of the destroyed entrance gate, seemingly crushed underneath a great force. The wreck of a white Toyota was close by, bits of glass strewn about and a pile of clothes next to the driver’s door. Ajit decreased his speed, now approaching the entrance at walking pace and giving ample time to his gunner to spot targets. The two bipedal dragons in the back dismounted to follow on either side of the truck, guns at the ready. Sri stayed in the back, the female hippogriff propping himself up against the top of the cabin to get a stable firing platform. Him being a quadruped, it was either that or using a pistol to shoot on the move.

The moment they passed the broken gate and came in sight of the building was when they spotted the first wood hounds. A group of them appeared to be trying to climb a gutter pipe to get to the first floor, unaware of the sailors coming behind them.

That obliviousness didn’t last long, the hail of bullets perforating their wooden bodies making the monsters keenly aware of the new challengers in town. With pained howls, their bodies crumpled to bits before they could turn around, Artyom rushing in to deal the finishing blow with a gout of fire that reduced the formerly menacing monsters to a pile of inert blazing lumber.

“Ajit, position the truck towards the back of the parking lot, I want you and Carlos to cover both the gate and the building’s entrance with that MAG.” The ex-VDV barked to the truck’s driver whilst keeping his SCAR trained on the building, its mounted flashlight illuminating the windows of the otherwise dark building. “Sri, you coming?” He asked the female hippogriff.

As the truck repositioned to keep watch on the accesses, the blue dragon saw Boris leave the cabin and set up on the cargo bed of the truck, rifle ready to cover their back if worse came to worst. Schmitt followed the vehicle, gun in ready position and eyes alert for any hint of movement coming from the building. The Indonesian hippogriff slung his own SCAR across his back the moment the truck stopped, quickly hopping off and moving to follow Artyom, his pistol sliding seamlessly in his talons.

Artyom addressed a questioning glance towards the Chief Engineer, the orange dragon raising his ‘thumb’ claw up to signal they were good to go.

“Keep the engine running, we’ll try to make this quick.” The bosun said before turning towards the doors. There were pieces of broken furniture from the barricade strewn about in the dark lobby. “Davai! We’ve waited long enough as is.” He cried out, heading inside with Sri in tow.

Upon a closer look, the lobby was more of a mess than they had made it out to be: slash marks marred the walls, bits of moss, bark and mud stained the floor and there was a lingering smell of rotten herring permeating the atmosphere above the pungent smell of rotting fruit and fresh mud. Crashing noises were coming from all around them, in particular from the first floor.

The two veterans silently moved through the lobby, the flashlights on their guns piercing through the murky darkness of the building’s interior.

“Where is she?” Sri whispered.

“Control room, first floor.” Artyom said, the Russian trying to read off some signs hanging on the ceiling. Unfortunately they were all written in Danish.

“There’s a staircase symbol over here.” Sri muttered, pointing a talon towards a fluorescent emergency sign showing a stick figure going up a flight of stairs somewhere down a hallway deeper in the building.

Following the sign led them to a curving staircase partly blocked off by empty desk and shelves, most of them already destroyed by the wood hounds that had preceded them here. Before Artyom had time to approach it, a wood hound came rushing at them from deeper down the hallway, claws skidding on the tiled floor as it rounded the corner. The creature didn’t get halfway to them before a round from Sri’s pistol landed right between its eyes, the wooden construct instantly collapsing.

Before Artyom had time to rush over and light its remains on fire, another of them came from the lobby behind them, and then two more from the stairs. Without a word, Sri turned around and fired four shots in quick succession at the one coming from behind, Artyom aiming his rifle towards the ones coming from upstairs and neutralizing them with a quick burst of full-auto fire.

Sri’s second target was only clipped by the shots from his pistol. The Five-Seven he was using may have had armor piercing rounds and a large magazine, but the ammunition was somewhat lacking in stopping power, meaning he had to aim for the head to get a quick kill. The wounded but very much alive monster pounced at the female hippogriff who hastily leaned to the side, dodging the attack before dumping a quick round in the back of its neck as it passed him by.

But the monsters were fast to reassemble: the first one was already back in one piece and attempting to cross the rest of the distance that separated it from the sailors. It didn’t go far, being disassembled two seconds later by a well placed shot from Artyom, the blue dragon bearing a grim look on his muzzle. Him turning his attention away from the staircase allowed a new wood hound to drop down, its landing halfway down the stairs scattering the reassembling remains of the two of its brethren already downed by the dragon.

“Tahi!” Sri swore, spotting the new hound and nailing it in the head with two bullets. “Art’ we seriously gotta start burning these fuckers! There’s too many not to, this building’s gonna burn…” The hippogriff ducked once more under a pouncing hound, its claws just barely missing and leaving a graze on his cheek. They were quickly getting overwhelmed. “… and if it’s not your fire then it’s gonna be one of my Molotovs!” He finished, downing the wood hound that had just pounced at him and starting to fall back towards the lobby.

What went unsaid was, he couldn’t keep getting lucky and dodge every strike at this rate. Sooner or later, one would land a decisive blow.

“I know I know!” Artyom cried out as he took aim at the ones down the hallway, backing away slowly to stay with his companion. “I just need them to cluster a little more!” He yelled. If he breathed fire right now he might block the stairs and cut off their access to Sandra.

Not a second later, two of the hounds that had come from the stairs finished reassembling and jumped towards them, hoping to quickly close the gap. One of them almost succeeded, its claw actually managing to scratch Artyom in the forearm before the Russian had time to down it with a double-tap after shooting its companion. The attack ripped a tear in his coveralls and managed to knock off a few of his scales, but it hardly drew more than a drop of blood from the dragon.

There were three more of the monsters in the fight, all now reassembled and charging at Sri from the hallway side of the firefight. The hippogriff was forced to dump the rest of his mag to keep them at bay, their remains sliding along the ground and coming to a rest dangerously close to Artyom.

“Reloading!” Sri yelled, quickly shoving the spent magazine in an empty pouch of his flak jacket and pulling out a fresh one. “Stop fucking around and torch the bloody things!”

“Almost there!” The dragon said, urging his companion to wait a little more. He backed up against a wall of the hallway, putting the remains of the hounds Sri had just downed between him and the other two.

Now if he kept count correctly… There, the two he was looking at were indeed the first to get back up, their green glowing eyes glaring at him menacingly. The blue-beret-wearing Russian glared right back at them, rifle already raised. Heat was starting to build up in his throat.

Just as planned, the two monsters charged, unknowingly lining themselves just right with his rifle’s barrel. The Belgian-made gun sang its deadly tune, sending the wooden remains clattering on the floor among the branches of its three comrades.

There.

Artyom released the burning feeling in his throat with an angry roar, a flame lancing out from his muzzle at the pile of living wood in the middle of the hallway, the fire so hot there were hints of blue in it. The building momentarily lit up as if daylight had come early, Artyom’s flame instantly lighting the wooden remains on fire. The light faded back down, only leaving the warm red glow of the burning timber and the white beams of their weapons’ flashlights.

“That was too fucking close.” Sri uttered in an annoyed tone. “We were that close…” He said, holding two talons a centimeter apart. “… To getting slaughtered here. Why the fuck did you wait so long?”

“I’m trying to minimize fire damage here. I can’t go breathing fire all over the place you know?” He said, inspecting what was left in his magazine and deciding to load a new one in his rifle.

“Come on now, it’s not like we’re going to need that building.” Sri complained, his pistol already trained towards the staircase.

“Maybe, but you will have to excuse me if a career of doing my best making sure stuff doesn’t catch fire makes me unwilling to go Fahrenheit 451 inside a building.” Artyom explained.

“Fahrenheit-what? You know what, fine, let’s get going, the missus is waiting.” Sri said, clicking his beak in annoyance.

The female hippogriff took the lead, pistol held at the ready. The clutter of debris in the staircase was hard to get through quickly and he had to keep his pistol trained towards the first floor as he progressed; they could still hear some wood hounds scurrying about upstairs. Behind him, Artyom was covering their back in case some of them snuck around and tried to attack from behind, but the noise of gunfire outside told them they had instead gone for the truck.

A green-yellow glow appeared on the windows of the building (or what was left of them anyway, the wood hounds had done a number on them). The hissing noise that followed telling them Schmitt had lit up the parking lot with their road flares.

Continuing up the stairs, the two veterans were met with a complete mess of destroyed offices, claw marks and bits of bark all over the place. Broken furniture and shredded stacks of paper lay in their path, the debris making for a constant tripping hazard in the dim light. Beside their own flashlights, they had the green glow of the flares outside to go by, as well as the red light coming from the first wood hounds they had set on fire outside, the flames already quite large and licking at the radio station’s façade.

Despite Artyom’s best efforts not to set the building ablaze, two more wood hounds attempted to ambush them as they progressed towards the control room, their blazing remains joining the other fires that were ravaging the building. The more of them he lit up like that, the more they would have to hurry unless they wanted their target to die of smoke inhalation.

“How many does that make now?” Sri asked, reloading his pistol after they downed the two wannabe ambushers. They had almost scored a good hit on him in the process, one claw nicking but failing to dig into his thick wing muscles on his back. The shallow cut was painful and stained his ivory white coat of fur, but didn’t appear to bleed too profusely. The Kevlar of his flak jacket had made the difference. If not for it, he wouldn’t be surprised if the attack actually managed to hit his spine.

“Seven inside and four outside.” The dragon answered, his red eyes tracking any potential movement in the darkness before landing on a sign. ‘Kontrollere… something’ it read. Must be their target. “There, on the right.” He told the Indonesian.

Then they continued on their way, while more gunfire was heard outside.

These hounds were relentless! The moment Schmitt heard the first shots inside the radio station; a loud howl was heard coming from all around them. A group of hounds tried to rush them through the main gate, only to be greeted by a long burst of machinegun fire courtesy of Carlos, the white parrot letting out a holler as he pulled the trigger.

Schmitt signaled for the Filipino to hold his fire while he delivered a breath of fire on the remains. In the few seconds it took him to cross the distance he could already see the creatures start to reassemble.

God were these fuckers quick. He had expected they would at least need thirty seconds to get back together, not the dozen seconds he was witnessing.

Already he could hear more of them arriving, though from where was rather hard to guess in the darkness. The headlights of their truck could only do so much, and the alarmingly big flames from the first group of wood hounds weren’t giving off enough light to see past the fenced parking lot. Time to pull out the flares then…

What they had were no military grade illumination mortars, but the lit flare sticks Schmitt threw around the corners of the parking lot gave off enough light to make out some wood hounds past the fences, the creatures retreating back behind hedges the moment the light revealed them. One of his flares accidentally landed too close to a parked car, lighting its tires on fire with a loud ‘bang’.

“Stay frosty folks, it’s not the last of them just yet!” The female dragon yelled, retreating closer to the truck.

Two hounds attempted to climb the fence behind them, the attempt noticed just in time by Boris who drilled their bodies with supersonic lead as they jumped off the fence, landing dangerously close to the team. That assault drove their attention away long enough for a new group to round the corner of the building and charge at them unchallenged, Carlos’ attention momentarily taken by the monsters in their six. The five hounds made a dash for the truck, Carlos’ few seconds of lapse in attention allowing two to get under his gun before he opened fire.

With Schmitt and Boris busy in their back, it was up to Ajit to step out of his seat behind the wheel and dump a dozen pistol rounds at the two dogs, one of them managing to dodge his fire and pounce at the Indian. He ducked back behind his truck’s open door, the hound slamming into it full force. The impact was enough to dent the door and shatter the window, shoving it shut instantly. Unfortunately for Ajit, his paw got stuck in the way, the bones in his wrist giving out with a sickening crunching sound.

The injured dog fell down with a pained howl, clutching his hand against his chest. The assaulting hound would have taken the opportunity to pounce on the driver had it not been for Carlos pulling out his own pistol and shooting it quickly before focusing back on his machinegun.

Already, Schmitt was coming back forward, torching Ajit’s attacker and the other hound while Carlos threw a Molotov at the scattered remains of the three dogs he had just downed with his machinegun. The projectile spilled a slick of fiery oil on the asphalt of the parking lot, accidentally setting yet another car on fire.

Those fires were starting to become a problem. Schmitt’s earlier flare had set off a chain reaction of blazing cars, not helped by Carlos’ Molotov cocktail. Meanwhile, the radio station was slowly starting to catch fire, sparks erupting from a melting electrical cabinet that had been in the path of the fire.

“Schmitt to Artyom, you better hurry with your rescue ‘cause that building is soon going to turn into an inferno, the fire’s spreading to the electrical installation, over.” The Chief Officer warned the other dragon over the radio.

“Copy that Chief, we’re on the first floor, gimme five minutes. Out.” The Russian replied.

While Boris was dealing with Ajit, splinting the Indian’s injury as fast as he could and passing him some painkillers, Schmitt made use of the moment of respite to take note of what was going on around them. Above the crackling of the flames and the hissing of the flares, the howling had died down slightly. Probably the hounds were a little less keen on attacking them with that show of force, maybe they had even convinced the monsters to finally back off with the amount of fire around them.

Or not, he thought as he spotted a large group of easily two dozens of the creatures gather just beyond the gates. Carlos held his fire, the creatures being too far for Schmitt to reach them in time if he downed them, and throwing a Molotov there would have blocked off their only escape route out of the parking lot. The numerous pairs of glowing green eyes glaring at them made a shiver run down the female dragon’s spine, his tail tensing up.

And then the dogs showed the sailors a new trick. The glow in their eyes increased tenfold and then… they disassembled themselves? Their bodies fell apart in a clatter of logs and branches just out of their range.

“The feck?” The Luxembourgian said in puzzlement.

Not a second later, the bits and pieces of living wood were wrapped in a green glow similar to the eyes of the hounds, a hazy green fog starting to form above them. The wood levitated up in the air, starting to cluster in lumpy shapes. Schmitt spotted the first hints of an enormous paw with claws the size of a bayonet, bits of moss and pine needles forming a green mane of sorts on the back of a gigantic neck.

“Open fire!” Schmitt yelled before the monster could finish its transformation. He may be in his forties but even he knew not to let the bad guys finish a transformation sequence. The dragon dropped to one knee, opening fire at the increasingly clearer shape of a FEU-sized wood hound. The beast’s eyes lit up with an intense glow, arcs of green lightning arching out from there and coursing through its still forming body.

The thing may have been big, but its body was still only made of wood. The 5.56mm rounds coming out of Schmitt’s FNC easily pierced the living wood, though the comparatively small size of the ammunition made for some lackluster damage against a creature of that size. He could see his rounds chipping at the creature’s large head, sending splinters flying, but nothing that seemed to phase the wooden construct.

They definitely should have packed more than one MAG for the trip.

Schmitt’s fire was soon joined by that of his companions, Ajit included. The Indian dog was holding his injured paw against his chest, pistol held in the other and firing wildly at the giant. More fire was enough to damage the creature’s jaw and send a wood spike of a tooth flying off to the side, but it reassembled within seconds of being damaged.

The truck’s machinegun turned out to be more effective, Carlos’ volley of tracer bullets ripping fair sizable holes in the giant hound’s chest. The concentrated 7.62 fire ripped one of its front legs off and sent it crashing muzzle first in the asphalt… before it reassembled and got back up, maw snapping in anger. Carlos’ gun went silent, having run through its belt of ammo.

“Reloading!” The Filipino cried loudly as he let himself fall down inside the cabin and started looking for the nearest ammo belt he could find.

“We need a plan.” Schmitt stated to no one in particular, continuing to pump semi-auto fire into the monster that was slowly advancing on them, weathering the hailstorm of lead they threw at it.

Back inside the building, the situation was marginally better than with Schmitt outside.

With particularly emphasis on marginally: after engaging and burning three more hounds, the duo had gone through a not insignificant amount of ammunition. It wasn’t so much of a problem for Artyom who was packing nine loaded mags anyway, but Sri only had three to go with the one in his pistol. The Russian had been quick to trade his loaded pistol mags with his colleague’s empty ones, but once he was through those three they were done. Being a hippogriff, a pistol was his only solution if he wanted to stay mobile when shooting, and they didn’t have time to stop.

The additional fires were visibly causing damage to the building: the fire alarm had activated, making it even harder to locate the remaining hounds by sound alone. Smoke was also starting to build up inside, a black layer of smoke already blocking sight of the ceiling. On the bright side, the fire seemed to chase away most of the hounds and Sri’s quadruped stance meant he wasn’t getting his head in the smoke yet contrarily to Artyom who had to kneel to avoid breathing in the fumes.

“We really gotta find her now!” Sri yelled over the blare of the fire alarm as he marched on through the hallway.

“Tell me something I don’t know!” Artyom replied. “You see a sign yet?”

The female hippogriff stopped at a crossing in the hallway, quickly checking around. On his left was a cul-de-sac with a large door at the end… and a keypad on the door?

“Left side!” He yelled before galloping towards the door.

This was indeed the room they were looking for, as indicated by a damaged plastic plaque on the wall next to it. The door was bent inwards, its frame damaged by the claws of the wood hounds. Sri immediately started pounding with one claw the moment he reached it.

“Miss Jensen, we’re the sailors from Amandine!” He yelled. “You got to open the door, we need to evacuate now!”

Inside the room, a little thestral finally peeked out from under the desk she was using to hide. The moment she had heard the first shots she had started to gather what little she could that was in the control room inside of a bag she stole from one of her coworkers’ cubicle. This mostly consisted of some personal belongings like the picture hanging from her cubicle… which was dreadfully little. Was she really left with so little? With barely any clothes on her back and just enough possessions to fill half a shoebox?

She was quick to get up and gallop towards the barricaded door.

“I’m here, I’m in here!” She yelled above the noise of the alarm, already trying to push away the furniture she had used to barricade herself. She needed to be quick; the control room didn’t have any windows and the ventilation…

A plate from the false ceiling crashed down next to her, the frame that held it in place already starting to bend from the heat of the smoke.

“I just need to remove the barricade!” She said, struggling with a shelving unit she had used to block off the entrance. Her puny body was barely able to move the piece of furniture.

“Back away from the door Miss.” The female voice on the other side said.

Sandra quickly backpedaled away from the door, seconds before it burst from its hinges, two powerful white hooves having easily bucked through her barricade. Said hooves were attached to a half-avian half-equine creature with distinctly feminine features. The hippogriff was clad in a set of orange high-vis coveralls above which she wore a flak jacket. She also had a pair of ear defenders on her ears, a small wire going from underneath the device and connecting to a walkie-talkie attached to the back of her jacket. Sandra could see the bulge of wings barely hidden by the flak jacket.

“Thank you, thank you, mange tak!” The mare cried out, rushing over to the hippogriff to hug her between her hooves, disregarding the pistol she held between her talons. “I don’t know what I would have become without you Miss!” She said happily.

“That’s uh… nothing really.” Sri said, patting the small batpony on the back. He bit back a wince, both from the girl calling him Miss and the way her hooves were pressing against his wounded back. The mare didn’t know; she couldn’t possibly know he was actually a dude. “Now, I don’t want to be rude Miss Jensen, but we really need to go. This building is about to burn down.” He insisted.

In passing he noted how the dark purple mare was actually naked, wearing nothing but a pair of headphones, aviator glasses tucked in her white mane and a very small bag.

Nothing alarming Sri thought, how could she possibly sew with hooves after all?

“Right uh… sorry.” Sandra said sheepishly, rubbing a bandaged hoof against the back of her head. She looked up at the taller hippogriff with her bright yellow slitted eyes. “Lead the way I guess.”

“Emergency escape is that way.” Artyom said, emerging from the darkness behind Sri and accidentally startling their rescuee.

It was likely that a heavily armed, red-eyed dragon appearing seemingly out of nowhere during a fire with monsters around wasn’t the most reassuring of sights, contrarily to an ivory coated hippogriff with an orange mane.

“No worries Miss Jensen, this is my colleague Artyom, he’s there to help.” Sri reassured the thestral. “I’m Sri by the way.” He added as an afterthought.

The group wasn’t attacked by any more wood hounds on the way out, though the crackle of firearms outside had risen dramatically. Were they fighting an entire fucking regiment out there? Around them, the burning hot smoke was starting to melt the false ceiling and gnaw at the walls, neon lights and ceiling tiles falling around them and scattering embers each time they hit the ground. The only wood hound they met as they traversed the building was already on fire from some fiery debris landing on it. The creature ran into a wall in its panic, scattering its body parts for the last time.

By then the amount of smoke had increased even more, now occupying half the height of the rooms and forcing Artyom to move around in a kneeling position unless he wanted to breathe in the smoke. He quickly tucked his beret under his coveralls, not wanting the piece of headwear to be damaged in the fire. The dragon was taking the lead of the group, following his steps back to a place where he had located an escape ladder that led to the side of the building opposite to the parking lot.

Just as they were reaching the ladder, Sandra accidentally stomped with her hoof on the dragon’s tail when she was dodged a falling ceiling panel. Artyom’s reaction was instantaneous as he let out a sharp yelp and sprang back up, his torso well inside the smoke cloud and taking a long breath of the deadly smoke.

“Artyom!” Sri called out in alarm. Smoke inhalation was no joke, and the sailor knew that all too well.

“I’m… fine actually.” The dragon reassured his colleague, though the confusion in his voice was evident. “This really doesn’t feel too bad. Just a bit warm. I can breathe just fine.” He said.

“Great discovery pal. Now what if we left? Your immunity doesn’t mean we are immune as well.” Sri urged him, opening the window that led to the ladder. It was barely one floor up anyway.

“Right, right.” The dragon answered, coming to help him. His red eyes were gleaming through the smoke, which would have made for a terrifying sight had the hippogriff not known it was his trusted comrade.

Sri went down first since it appeared Artyom didn’t have to worry about the smoke anymore. The hippogriff grabbed their rescuee under one arm and helped her down, Sandra being unable to grab the bars properly with her hooves. The Danish mare held on tightly to the Indonesian, letting out a tiny squeal of terror into his neck when a nearby window exploded from the heat. They really had cut it close with that fire. Five minutes longer and they might have been caught in a flashover. Artyom followed soon after them, the upper half of the dragon’s clothes blackened by the smoke but otherwise fine.

As for the other group, Schmitt was straight up out of ideas on how to deal with the giant wood hound that was slowly approaching them despite their hailstorm of gunfire they threw at it. Even their MAG and its 7.62 ammunition wasn’t enough to make any lasting damage to the bloody thing, the creature reassembling faster than they could damage it.

The staccato from the MAG stopped once more, Carlos calling out that he was reloading a new belt of ammo. The weapon was running hot and was in dire need of a barrel change, but putting in a new belt was already took too long to afford that kind of luxury. The hundred meters that separated them from the giant beast had steadily shrunk to sixty, then forty.

“Any of you guys got an idea?” Schmitt called out as he slammed a fresh mag in his gun. Three mags left, and then he would be down to his pistol.

“I do but you may not like it Chief!” Boris screamed from the back of the truck, the griffon resting his weapon on the cabin of the truck.

“Screw that shit, do your stuff before I change my mind birdbrain!” Yielding command to a subordinate like that may not be the best of ideas, but the dragon would rather be a bad Chief Engineer than a dead Chief Engineer.

“Alright. Everyone focus fire on its legs!” The Russian had an idea. Whether or not it was true, he would soon find out.

The four sailors turned their aim from the monster’s center of mass to one leg while Boris stopped firing and dug around the back of the truck. He couldn’t properly remember where they had put it, much less in the dark like that. He blindly swept the floor of the cargo bay with his claws, looking for a particular item… There! His talons clasped around the edge of a plastic beer case. Boris pulled the thing to him, finally finding their store of Molotovs.

Alright, Artyom may have told them not to light them on fire when they were alive, but it was fine if they lacked the legs to charge them, right?

“Welp, time to find out…” Boris muttered in Russian as he pulled out a zippo lighter from his pocket.

From the turret, Carlos observed a lit Molotov cocktail soar just above his head, the projectile’s burning rag almost touching the cockatoo’s yellow feather crest. The impact coincided exactly with the moment his machinegun finally managed to break through the creature’s tree trunk of a leg, sending it collapsing.

The burning projectile crashed right on top of the giant wood hound’s head, instantly setting its mane on fire and thoroughly coating it with burning liquid that started to seep between the gaps in the branches that made up its body. And that’s when the sailors noticed something: the moment the flames started to dig inside of its body, the green glow that coursed through the hound’s body… well it didn’t fade away completely, but it must have been reduced to a third of its initial intensity. It’s broken leg stopped reassembling, the still living (if they were even living that is) creature making a last attempt at attacking them by pushing on with its hind legs.

That movement just put it in a better position for being flanked by Artyom. The ex-VDV’s team just rounded the corner of the building behind it, the sight of their boatswain instantly making everyone cease fire in fear of hitting him. As for the blue dragon, the giant wood hound only fazed him for half a second before he breathed a long gout of fire along the monster’s massive flank, the dragon’s fire digging much further inside its half hollow body than Boris’ Molotov ever could.

With one long agonized howl, the giant creature collapsed in a pile of burning timber, branches and vegetation. Its own movement towards them had done them a service: the body was now well clear of the entrance gate, allowing their unimog to easily get out of the parking.

Sri, Artyom and Sandra quietly walked around the burning carcass of the wood hound, Sandra slowing down a bit when she passed its gaping maw that was now spewing smoke and embers in a simulacrum of Artyom’s own fiery breath. The blue dragon scared her if she were honest about it, his red eyes and gleaming white fangs making for a terrifying sight against the dull red glow of the fires that now rampaged around the area. Looking around, she could see her former workplace now ablaze, the broken windows billowing smoke and the roof antennas starting to bend under the stress caused by the heat. On the parking lot, nearly every car (including hers) was now a burning wreck, acrid clouds of smoke emanating from the destroyed tires and making her eyes water. As she followed Sri, keeping close to the Indonesian, a tall orange shape stepped in front of her, kneeling slightly so that the size difference wasn’t that big. Another dragon, this one a female with gentle blue eyes instead of Artyom’s aggressive red.

“Miss Jensen I presume?” She asked.

Sandra nodded meekly.

“Nice to finally get to see you. My name is Schmitt; I’m Amandine’s Chief Engineer.” She said, extending a claw in greeting.

“Pleased to meet you, ma’am.” Sandra said, her usual enthusiasm reduced by the carnage around her. She extended her hoof and shook the proffered claw.

“It’s ‘sir’ actually, but no big deal.” Schmitt smiled gently. “Long story short, the change that made you a pony made me female. Bad lottery pick I guess?” He chuckled. “Now, I assume you’d like a ride to our ship?” He said pointing a claw back to the truck in which his shipmates were already climbing.

What happened then was a bit of a haze for the slightly shell-shocked mare. She remembered being helped in the back of the truck, getting a seat next to a bipedal dog with a wrist injury while a griffon of all creatures offered to take a look at the hoof she had injured days earlier. A burly humanoid parrot took the wheel and drove them away from the building, away from… her life. She kept staring in the direction of the radio station long after they left it behind, only able to see a red glow over the horizon. Before long, the adrenaline wore off and the little thestral nodded off in the back of the truck, surrounded by unknown, heavily armed sailors.

Author's Note

So that one was pretty heavy in action, hope you guys enjoyed it. I will be following up shortly with a blog post about Amandine.

Chapter 26: Not a Tank

“What do you mean ‘there are no bases in Copenhagen’?”

“Well, there are some but not the type where you’d find the guns you want.” Sandra told Roberto.

In the evening, the secretary had invited the thestral in his office to have her share what she knew of the area. There were several targets they needed to find within the city, most important of all being a base to arm the sailors of Rhine Forest.

Except there was a bit of a hick with that particular task.

“My charts here tell me the city has a navy base.” The black cat said, pointing a paw at a freshly printed map of the city.

“In the past, ja. Now it’s really just a navy museum with a couple old ships for tourists to visit. They do moor there sometimes but that’s about it.” Sandra explained.

Roberto’s scarred ear twitched and he shifted his paw to another spot on his map.

“What about that one?”

“Not much of a base either. It’s a military academy. You might find a couple weapons there or at the Kastellet which is supposed to do military intelligence…” The mare said after checking out the map briefly.

“… But not as many as from a fully fledged base, got it.” Roberto completed the sentence, pinching his muzzle in frustration. “Fine, let’s admit I’m going about it wrong. Did you have any friend that enlisted in the military before the Event?”

“There was the one back in high school...” She mused.

“And did he mention at any point a place, some barracks where he’d have gone to do basic, or even his first assignment? As in, a fully fledged base, not a white-shirts-and-ties office?”

The mare frowned in concentration, her two large yellow eyes crossing in front of her short muzzle for a minute before she turned back to the cat with a wide smile that showed off her fangs.

“Slagelse!” She said. “There was a recruitment center inside of a base he went to. I remember it now.”

“Sla-gel-se…” Roberto typed on his computer, which spat out a location a hundred kilometers away from their position. The place was still on the same island and close enough to a highway that he could reliably justify selecting it as a salvaging target. “Well, grazie Miss Jensen, with that we should be able to arm the guys from the Rhine.”

“Please call me Sandra.” The mare smiled, brushing a webbed wing through her messy white mane. “Was the military base all you needed? Sri said he wanted to show me how things worked on board.”

“There is more actually.” The Italian cat said leaning back in his seat and flexing his legs under the desk. He may have been out of the splint for his injury, but the articulations still tended to ache by the end of the day. “I need your actual address so we can get you your belongings, and I’d like some suggestions.”

“It’s as I told the Captain. My houseboat is moored in the hook of the southern canal in Christianshavn, but I thought I would go along for that?” She cocked her head.

“Of course you will. I just needed the location to know if we could salvage from somewhere else on the same trip.” He said, jotting down the position on the map. The place was basically on their doorstep.

Glancing up at the batpony mare, the Italian hesitated for a bit, not really knowing how much he could tell her about the HPI. The Captain had yet to mention to whom they were allowed to talk about the organization.

“You see, at the Captain’s behest, our ship has begun to gather pieces of art for preservation.” Not really for the sake of art, they just intended to trade them to a shady UN-born organization for parts, but he needn’t tell her that. “We know they would rot away if left abandoned in decrepit buildings, which is why we put them in deep storage inside of containers with controlled atmosphere. I would not be mistaken to believe Copenhagen hosts some impressive collections now, would I?”

“That’s such a brilliant idea!” Sandra beamed before propping herself up on his desk, one wing pointing at several places on the map. “There, here and there you’d find some pretty neat paintings, particularly there inside of the SMK.”

“I’m sorry, SMK?” The cat asked, one ear lowered in bemusement.

“Statens Museum for Kunst. The national art museum, it’s near Rosenborg castle so you can secure the crown’s jewels on the same trip.” She explained.

The two of them went on discussing for a moment, switching between art related locations and some more practical ones. Roberto had already put the UN city building on the list, but Sandra had to add that there was also a UNICEF supply depot in the city, though she had no idea where it actually was. The Maersk HQ was another target the cat was surprised to add to the list. Schmitt would be delighted to hear of it, busy as the dragon was with trying to figure out a solution for fuel in the long run. That particular shipping company had an offshore and drilling branch, meaning they could possibly get hold of some precious time-saving data there. The clock was still running until fuel left in depots became unusable, and even though six months left them plenty of time they had to find a solution eventually.

By the time the thestral left his office, Roberto was left with plenty of potential targets on his list. Raiding them all would take them quite a while, but the HPI still had to tell them when they would be able to make their delivery, so they had plenty of time to spare.

The very next day, a team was assembled with crewmembers from both vessels. Amandine gladly lent Rhine Forest’s crewmembers two lorries to carry the gear, ammo and weapons they were going to retrieve from the base in Slagelse. One of their unimogs accompanied the convoy, loaded with a couple armed sailors from Amandine tasked with keeping the convoy safe. It took them a while to get the convoy properly prepped for the trip, the sailors from Amandine telling the ones from the barge carrier about their procedures. They had a bit of an argument about which ship would dispatch an officer to accompany the expedition before a game of heads-or-tail wound up designating the Rhine’s Second Engineer, a griffon, as the leader. The guy was shown all the plans and maps before they finally managed to get the convoy on the way, a whole two hours behind schedule.

With Amandine’s crew having to escort the convoy and keep watch of the terminal’s access points, not many sailors were left to take care of other duties. Artyom had decided to stay behind at the terminal to work on building his kill house inside a warehouse close to where they had moored their ship. The Russian didn’t have many hands to help him with that, but plenty of materials to go around and assemble the training ground according to his plans. Alejandro had insisted on the place being able to be used for firefighting training as well, to which the Russian didn’t object, though that made the assembly process a lot longer.

There were a few sailors from Rhine Forest that had come out to help them, or at least to start checking out the contents of containers around the terminal. Most of them were still in the process of getting their clothes and shoes refitted for their new bodies, though that number was quickly decreasing. Farkas had left in the morning to teach their sphinxes and unicorns how to control their telekinesis, which should add a couple heads to their available manpower once she was done.

Around noon, a tanker truck and a Defender left Amandine to go retrieve some diesel fuel from the port’s shore tanks, led by Angelo. They wanted to dispatch some crewmembers to fetch a barge and get more fuel for the main engine, but that task would have to be postponed until they had enough manpower to actually do it. In the meantime, they could only compensate for the daily consumption of the generators.

All in all, a pretty busy start of the day for everyone involved. Very few had any free time to spare, and those that did were sooner rather than later given tasks by passing Officers. In Dilip’s case, the dog had just gotten out of a meeting with Captain Gerig to discuss whether or not the Rhine could be modified in the same fashion as his crew had done with Amandine’s workshop. The topic had then been transferred to the barge carrier’s own Chief Engineer to let the centaur figure out what they could possibly do to improve her. A couple ideas had flown around between the two Captains, but nothing conclusive until an actual engineer could verify their viability.

Meanwhile in Amandine’s cafeteria, Micha had just been relieved from her watch by Geert. The female parrot’s condition with his injured hip was slowly improving, though he still had to keep it immobilized most of the time. On the bright side, his reeducation phase had already begun when Vadim told him he could start slowly walking for short periods of time on the gym’s treadmill.

Micha plopped down in a chair in front of Vadim, the other griffon just being busy sipping from a cup of coffee after coming back from a visit in the Rhine’s infirmary to help Doctor Delacroix take care of the injured.

“Paperwork?” Vadim asked in Polish after spotting a couple sheets of paper poking out of his friend’s pockets.

“Tasks to be done, training to be scheduled, and never enough people to spare for it.” She sighed. “I just got assigned to a small mission in downtown Copenhagen.”

“Art retrieval?”

“Nah, I’m being sent with Miss Jensen to recover some of her stuff from her houseboat.” Micha said, pulling out the sheet of paper for emphasis. “Nothing big, just Sri, her and me in a Defender; shouldn’t take long. How’s it going for you?”

“Just taking care of the injured on both ships. Geert’s hip is getting better by the day, and Roberto and Niko are basically good as new if you don’t count the scars.”

“Yeah, pretty sure the Scarface nickname is gonna stick in Nikola’s case…” Micha commented about the scar that crossed the gargoyle’s muzzle.

“Sorry about that, but I’m no plastic surgeon.” Vadim said before taking a sip of his coffee. “Bart’s bill of health is almost clear as well, so that leaves only the guys on the Rhine.”

“Bad cases?”

“There were a couple worries along the way but they’re all stable. Problem is, their medical staff is still injured, but once they get better I should be able to avoid having to play doctor anymore.” The grey falcon griffon said with a smile on his beak.

“About that uh…” Micha muttered, talons hovering above a sheet of paper in her pocket. “The Captain came up with something for you.” She said, handing the Third Officer the paper.

“Come on now, can’t be that bad.” Vadim said before he grabbed the file in his claws. He looked down at it for a couple seconds before his face fell. “I stand corrected, it is that bad.”

“Well, try to look at it from his perspective; it does make sense to have you do that.” Micha tried.

“My ass it does! Who the fuck does he think I am? Some kinda nurse? Advanced medical training, the hell does he mean by that?” Vadim raised his voice and let out an angry squawk, the ruckus drawing the attention of other sailors inside the room. “Cholera! I’m supposed to steer this goddamn ship and keep watch, so what’s this retarded bzdura with sticking me with medical duties all the time?! Everyone gets to go out and I’m stuck on board with my claws up my ass playing nurse.”

Micha let him carry on with his rant for a minute or two before she kicked him in the shin under the table. The Ukrainian fell back down in his seat and finally shut his beak, they didn’t need an Officer throwing a tantrum in the middle of the cafeteria.

“Vadim.” She said, looking her friend straight in the eyes. “Doc Delacroix is, at the moment, the most medically certified person we have available. I know for one thing that the training of a Deck Officer is beyond that of a regular nurse, which means you are a direct second to her. Ever heard the thing about not putting all your eggs in one basket? Right now, that’s what we’re trying to correct, roger?”

“Yeah I know bu-“

“No buts.” She cut him off. “I want you to think, for one second, of what would have happened if any of the injuries received during the course of this whole shitstorm had been even slightly worse. What would have happened then uh? Could you have saved Bart if his wound was just a centimeter deeper?”

“No I wouldn’t.” Vadim admitted through a gritted beak, head held low.

“That is precisely the problem. We’ve been lucky. That won’t last. That’s why we need you to get over your sorry ass and take that training. Delacroix is only one person and she’s already injured which further proves my point.”She said.

“Alright, alright, you’re right.” Vadim stopped her with a raised claw. “No need to run your beak for hours, I’ll do it.” He sighed. “Can’t say I’ll like it though.”

“And you don’t have to. No biggie about the chewing out?”

“Nah… kinda was deserved to be honest.” Vadim shook his head before standing up.

“And where are you going now?” The female griffon asked.

“To the infirmary. Might as well rip off the band-aid now before I change my mind, Delacroix’s gonna want a look at all the medical research I’ve gathered. See you in the evening for flight training?” He asked.

“Yeah, see you this evening.” She nodded, watching the Ukrainian depart, leaving behind a half finished cup of coffee.

Micha waited a bit before heading down to the armory. She still had plenty of time before having to leave on her expedition, and from a cursory glance at her maps it wasn’t even that far. Alejandro had briefly mentioned she should be on the lookout for anything they could make use of, but chances were low she would find anything of vital importance in downtown Copenhagen (art notwithstanding).

She definitely would make a detour to see the Little Mermaid tho’.

There wasn’t too much activity inside the armory except for Bart who was working on one of their FNC’s at a workbench. The blue furred unicorn was fiddling with a couple spare picatinny rails with his telekinesis, probably in an attempt to have better optics on their more common rifle variant. The Belgian stallion had his work cut out for him since there was absolutely no standard scope fitting on the black rifles, unlike their much less common SCAR’s which they reserved for experienced sailors like the vets.

Micha rasped her throat to let the guy know she was here, the Corporal giving her a grunt of acknowledgment before focusing on his work once more. She didn’t need his help; she already knew what she was looking for.

The weapons and gear were stored in multiple cages, each with a different mechanical code lock. She retrieved her flak jacket from one, most of the pouches already set for the weapons she wanted to bring along. The initial pouches for assault rifle mags had been replaced by smaller ones for her hunting rifle’s five-round mags, and most of the rear Kevlar plate had been removed to better fit her wings. She still couldn’t open them as long as she had the jacket on, but at least the vest didn’t bust her back like when she first tried it out.

She had been tempted to take a regular assault rifle, but they’d need at least some 7.62 (or .308 in this case) firepower for the trip. A full blown machinegun was a bit much for the task, but her bolt-action hunting rifle would do the trick just fine. She was pretty sure Sri would take a SCAR anyway.

Making sure she signed on a list attached to the cages what gear she was taking; the bald eagle griffon grabbed her rifle and a Browning Hi-Power. Many sailors preferred to take the Five-Seven pistols they also had in store, but according to rumors she had heard about the encounter in Lyngby their ammo lacked in the stopping power department. She was pretty damn sure 9mm Parabellum wouldn’t.

Micha used the armory’s interphone to call Sri and tell the Indonesian to start getting ready for the trip, reminding him that Sandra still needed to be fitted with a set of K9 armor, her equine frame being too small for their flak jackets. They might need some time to do that, what with Sandra needing to keep her wings free considering they stood in for actual hands.

This left her ample time to grab ammunition for Sri and her (Sandra not being trained to or even able to use a gun) and start preparing their Land Rover. The guys from engineering had already done a remarkable job modifying the little 4x4 trucks for rugged work. The one blue Defender 130 she had pulled out of storage -one with a white paintjob not too dissimilar to their unimog with the UN paintjob- had been equipped with a snorkel, an external roll cage and bull bars. The external framework carried extra headlights above the cab, a pair of winches on both ends of the vehicle and a couple aluminum plates to protect the cargo bay’s tarpaulin from impacts. A pair of spare tires was attached to either side of the cargo bay, and finally a trio of folded antennas poked out of the roof rack, an indication of the radio equipment installed inside the cab.

Honestly, with the exception of a turret ring, the vehicle wouldn’t have looked out of place on the roster of a blue helmet mission. Whoever had done the modifications had also taken the time to put stickers on the wings of the truck that read ‘M/V Amandine IMO 9424871’ in addition to a black anchor symbol over the hood. All in all, Nikola hadn’t done a bad job on the trucks.

Micha took her time running checkups on the vehicle, as redundant as it was considering it had just gotten out of their workshop. Even the tank was filled to the brim, thanks to the addition of a fuel pump in the workshop that made it so they didn’t have to bring vehicles to the lowest deck (in which they had installed diesel tanks for the vehicles only) to fill them.

Sri eventually turned up after a couple minutes of waiting, Sandra following closely behind, her small orange coveralls now covered by a set of K9 armor that let out her wings.

“Sri, Jensen.” Micha nodded to them. “Truck’s ready, your ammo is on the passenger seat. How is your back?”

“Not too bad.” The female ivory white hippogriff said. “Aches a bit, but the wound is fine.” He commented before starting to load his mags. As expected, he had gone with a SCAR as his main weapon, with a FN 303 in his pistol holster. They always made sure each group had one of the less-lethal weapons, just in case they found something that wasn’t a monster.

“Impatient to get your stuff back Miss Jensen?” Micha asked as she inputted the houseboat’s address in the GPS.

“Call me Sandra, please. But yes, I really have nothing to my name at the moment do I?” She said.

“Which we’re gonna correct within the hour.” Micha said. “I don’t think you have a key with you?”

“I keep one under a pot next to the door.” The dark purple thestral said, struggling a bit to open the rear door, the truck’s high ground clearance not helping her small stature.

“At least that means we won’t have to bust the door open.” Sri said, sliding the last bullet in mags and loading it in his rifle. He didn’t pull the cocking handle, yet. “No pets we should be afraid of I hope? Though with how long it’s been…”

“Yeah my goldfish is dead. I figured that.” Sandra chuckled ruefully as she climbed in the rear of the cab. “But was there ever any problem with other animals?” She asked, closing the door.

“Packs of feral dogs can be trouble, but a couple stray shots above their heads usually send them away. If that doesn’t work, well…” The hippogriff tapped a talon against his grenade pouch in which he had a couple stun and tear gas grenades. “Grenades make enough of a bang to chase them away. No Molotov though, Micha?”

“Worried about wood hounds? I thought you guys killed them all in Lyngby?” The Second Officer cocked her head.

“Can’t know for sure. Do you at least have the flammable pepper spray?” Sri asked, almost ready to head back to the ammo containers to grab something.

“Yeah I do.” Micha reassured him. “But come on now, I’m sure it won’t be that bad and we can get away quickly if that happens.”

“Better hope we can…” Sri grumbled through his beak.

Just like they usually did, Micha rolled the Defender to the stern ramp once everyone was seated. They quickly did a radio check before asking the bridge for permission to leave, getting an instant approval. The 4x4 finally drove off the ramp slowly (so as to avoid another Aleksei incident) and headed for the terminal’s exit.

Sandra’s residence in Christianshavn was a mere fifteen minutes drive away. The trio traversed the city easily, the only block in their way being spilled trashcans and litter caused by the numerous dog packs that roamed the city. Either the population had been culled by the wood hounds and zoo animals, or they had simply fled to the countryside where food was more plentiful because they didn’t spot any on the way. The streets of downtown Copenhagen were completely different from those of Antwerp: where the Flemish port’s streets could be considered narrow and somewhat oppressive, Copenhagen’s were a lot more open thanks to careful urban planning. Most of the buildings and storefronts sported warm, lively colors that had yet to fade away from disuse. Coupled with the local architects’ seeming love of copper sheet roofing, Copenhagen enjoyed a rather colorful palette. The city was also a lot greener: trees were planted at regular intervals, even this deep inside the city’s centre. The surroundings of the Kastellet as it was called (a star-shaped fortress Micha remembered because it was next to the Little Mermaid) even housed a particularly lush park. None of the vegetation bore the marks of wood hounds, which served to reassure the three of them, but it was also made it clear that overgrowth would quickly overtake the city given a couple years.

Along the way, Micha tried to remain on the lookout for possible targets Roberto’s intel had failed to locate. She did notice several smaller museums and libraries, a couple tech companies in modern buildings they might have some use for and even some shops she felt like would yield interesting loot (though the last one was a personal opinion). She would leave it up to the cat secretary to figure out which of the locations were worth hitting.

Their 4x4 crossed the bridge that led to the eastern side of the city, the structure marked by two towers covered in copper plates that had turned green from the patina. They were now in Christianshavn, the district differing ever so slightly from the rest of the town by its simpler, more modern architecture but much more colorful buildings. Many facades were entirely painted, with colors ranging from yellow to red, with the odd speck of blue or green among the lot. Sandra pointed them to a narrow paved street that bordered the canal running through the center of the district.

A couple small houseboats were moored to the along the quays, the shadow from rows of trees that separated the road from the canal protecting them from the warm rays of the sun. Some had even broken away from the quays and sunk in the middle of the canals after being abandoned for so long. The odd thing was that, according to a comment from Sandra, there should be a lot more of them than the number they were seeing. Moored houseboats must have counted as occupied vehicles then, a specificity of the Event they had been quick to notice…

Their batpony companion pointed them to a converted barge moored in a corner of the canal. The housing structure was built out of the hull of an old coal carrying barge, its machinery now replaced by living appliances and an apartment replacing the wheelhouse. A single ramp led to the main deck, a rusty bicycle attached to it on the quay side. Many flower pots lined the sides of the deck, now either overgrown or dead from dehydration. There were also hints of rust and algae creeping up the flanks of the boat, though not enough to threaten it.

Micha parked as close as she could to the former vessel, cargo bay pointed towards the gangway. As she backed the vehicle in place, she could see Sri observing the area around them like a hawk, one talon ready to bring up his rifle at a moment’s notice.

“Notice anything?” Micha asked him, following the hippogriff’s gaze.

“Just wary is all.” Sri said. “You two grab Sandra’s stuff, I’ll be keeping watch.” He added before opening his door and climbing on the Defender’s roof in one swift motion.

While the veteran was keeping an eye on the area for them, Sandra led Micha to her soon to be former home. As the batpony had claimed, there was a spare key by the entrance, which allowed the two of them to easily enter the houseboat. The inside that greeted them was rather cramped and hard to get around for quadrupeds like Micha. Sandra didn’t really have that problem since she had shrunk quite a bit more than the griffon after the transformation, but she was also much shorter than the furniture.

From Micha’s perspective, she could see a small kitchen and a narrow dining hall on one side, and a hallway that led to the cabins on the other. The atmosphere was slightly oppressive, with dark hues used to paint walls that were cluttered with decorations, pictures and banners.

“You weren’t living there alone I guess?” Micha asked her.

“No I wasn’t.” Sandra shook her head. “Me and a couple childhood friends used to rent it before… you know.” She said with a wave of her wing. “We all came from the same neighborhood and we wanted to stick together for ‘the big life’ in the city.”

“How come the place is empty then? By our experience, if a vehicle is occupied then it disappears along with anyone inside.”

“Gone partying.” Sandra explained. “They were out celebrating a birthday in Freetown. I was supposed to join them after work.” She sighed while looking at a group photo next to the TV.

Taller than Sandra as she was, Micha managed to get a look at the picture. In it, a group a young adults was sitting at a table on the deck of the houseboat during summer, each with a cocktail in hand and smiles on their faces.

“If this makes it any better for you, maybe they will get to reappear together.” Micha tried.

“It doesn’t… but thanks.” Sandra gave the griffon a small smile. “You mind if I leave them a message?”

“You can write with these wings?” Micha raised a white feathery brow.

“I’ll manage.” Sandra gave a semblance of a shrug with her wings. She moved towards a small chalkboard next to the kitchen’s door, on which the line ‘Dagens Menu’ was written. The batpony propped herself up against the wall and took hold of a piece of chalk. “This might take me a little while to do that…” She told Amandine’s Second Officer sheepishly.

“No worries, mind if I go ahead and start grabbing stuff for you?”

“Sure! My cabin is the last one down the passageway over there.” The batpony pointed with a hoof. “It’s got my name on the door, can’t miss it.”

Micha nodded softly and moved off to take care of Sandra’s stuff. The passageway was particularly narrow, being only wide enough for two people and even then they would have to squeeze to pass each other. A couple round portholes provided light, sunrays entering at an angle which revealed the amount of dust floating in the air from the houseboat being unoccupied for a while. She found Sandra’s room as indicated, next to the door that led to the boat’s bathroom.

Contrarily to the rest of the houseboat, the room shed the cramped and oppressive feeling for a more pleasant atmosphere. The walls were painted a soft shade of white, with a blue ceiling in the center of which she could see a skylight. Paired with a single porthole, the two openings managed to brighten up the room and make it appear larger than it really was.

The griffon didn’t waste time gaping at the sight and set to grab a pair of travel bags from under the bed. Bed sheets and a blanket were the first thing to get crammed inside, quickly followed by some electronics she found on the desk: laptop, hard drive, an IPod, pretty much the standard fare for a young adult living in a big city. She didn’t find any Smartphone around, but Sandra’s must have either been lost in the fire or she had it in her cabin on Amandine already. She would be issued one with satellite connectivity anyway.

Photo albums, books and a CD collection came next. Micha didn’t bother looking at the titles, most were in Danish in any case so it’s not as if she could have understood it regardless. It took her a couple minutes to pick what she thought their newest crewmember would like to have before she opened the skylight and lifted the first bag on the deck. Sitting back down on her haunches, she glanced alternatively between the skylight and her wings, the appendages currently restrained by her flak jacket.

“You want to fly?” Sandra asked her, surprising the Pole and making her jump up with a loud squawk.

“Kurde!” She swore. Damn, bloody batpony could be surprisingly quiet. “And, yes, I wish I could try out those wings but that flak jacket is no good for that. You done with your message?”

“Hopefully if my friends reappear they will find it…” Sandra sighed. “I wanted to leave them a vlog but I don’t know how long it will take them so I just left a note on the chalkboard and a letter on the table.”

Micha gave the little equine a sympathetic pat on the back before asking her what more she’d like to take. There wasn’t even that much to pick from, but they still filled the second bag with clothes she might be able to refit someday, old souvenirs and other memorabilia. It wasn’t too soon before they loaded the bags inside their Defender and drove away from the quay. Sandra had a wistful look on her muzzle as she looked back towards the diminishing houseboat before Micha eventually rounded a corner and her former home disappeared from view.

“You alright there Sandra?” Sri asked her worriedly.

“Yeah…” She said quietly. “It’s just… the radio station’s gone… now I just packed away my belongings and left my home…” Her wings and ears drooped. “You ever felt like you turned a significant page in your life?”

“Last time something like that happened to me was when I left the navy.” Sri said. “End of the World aside of course.” He added before Micha could open her beak. “It’s rough when it happens, and you having to venture alone in that new part of your life without any former friends or family to lean on doesn’t help. Everyone is still trying to figure out what they’re gonna make of themselves, so you might as well take the opportunity yourself, see what you can improve on.”

“Have you figured it yet?” Sandra asked honestly.

The female hippogriff’s features soured for a second before he put on a stoic face.

“No I haven’t.” He said in a whisper. “I’m still trying to figure out what my… principles should make of those changes. Anyway, we’re off to see that Little Mermaid then Micha?”

The Indonesian’s sudden change of the subject didn’t go unnoticed, but neither of his two companions felt like trying to get him to open up. Micha made a point of remembering to bring this up with Nikola or Artyom when they got back; the two of them were closest to him and would know how to approach the vet.

Trying to brighten up the mood, Sandra began to tell the two sailors stories about the city as their 4x4 drove towards the famous landmark. She knew a fair deal about the area, pointing out bars and places she used to hang out at with her friends. According to her, the citadel next to the Little Mermaid had a rather nice park for picnics provided you went there off season without the tourists.

They drove past the Maersk HQ on their way there, the logo of a white star above a blue square hanging on the building’s façade. This was not their target for today, the building being way too large to explore between the three of them. Another group would come for that, but later. As for them, they profited from no one being there to enforce pedestrian areas and drove on footpaths that circled the citadel’s moat. A small rise of ground separated the moat from the actual sea which barely rose two meters above the water level before dipping back down, smooth rocks and concrete on the sea side preventing the construction from being eroded by the tides.

A short ways after a modern pavilion, they finally reached the mermaid. Micha stopped their Defender to go take a look at the bronze statue. There, just a meter or two away from the shore, the statue was placed on a pile of smooth rocks. A bit of patina had built up on her metallic skin since the Event, but it was still very much the icon of the city. Wavelets lapped at the rocks that made out its ‘pedestal’, bits of seaweed starting to cling to the pedestal.

“Now see that!” Micha said with a smile on her beak, one claw reaching for the pocket in which she usually put her phone. “No need to always feel down and gloomy. End of the World doesn’t mean we always have to be miserable.” She commented before snapping a picture of the statue. “That one is going in the Officers’ lounge.”

Not a minute after the three of them left the area; a wet, scaly head peeked above the water, its red eyes staring in the direction the 4x4 had taken.

A few hours later late in the afternoon, Geert had made his way to the armory after a session on the treadmill. His hip ached from the movement, but the scarlet macaw felt pretty confident he would eventually be able to shed the crutches he had been stuck with for the last few weeks. Having to hop around constantly was starting to get on his nerves.

He walked through the sturdy door that protected the armory’s entrance, voices with an Australian accent greeting him as he made his way inside. Bart was the only one inside, the unicorn having set a laptop down on a table, the device currently playing an episode of ‘Sea Patrol’. As for the stallion, he was still busy trying to figure out a way to attach accessories to their FNC’s.

“Having success with your idea yet?” Geert greeted him in Dutch. Regardless of any differences between his and Bart’s own dialects, having someone to talk to in his mother tongue felt better than speaking English any day. Not that he disliked the other sailors, it just felt more natural.

“Not really, no.” He said with a shake of his head. He still had his olive green mane cut short, and his brown beret tucked under the epaulette of his sweater. “I’ve got some ideas for scopes, but they all need me to do some extensive machining on the rails so I can fit them where the blank adaptor would go… But then again doing so might block off the iron sights if I don’t do it right, and there is the risk of the optics being inaccurate if the fitting isn’t tight enough. Vibrations from shooting don’t get along with delicate stuff like optics see.” He said, pointing his hoof at the dismantled rifle he had on his workbench next to a couple notes and drawings.

“Can’t say I know much about guns I’m afraid.” Geert shrugged. “Just remember to get it approved by one of the engineers before you do it. I don’t think many would be too happy if you started fiddling with the guns without telling anyone.”

“Don’t you worry about that. Nothing I’ve done as of yet was irreversible, I ain’t dumb. There is this one thing though, that would make it a hell of a lot easier…” The unicorn said; his horn lighting up and a notebook lifting off the workbench. “The FNC isn’t a common rifle by any stretch of imagination; it just uses simple, efficient mechanisms pioneered by other weapons like the FAL, Galil and AK families. There are some countries that have made their own versions however.”

“Indonesia you mean? That we know already, Sri told us.” Geert pointed out.

“Indonesia is one, but Sweden also produced their own variant. With scopes and rails. No iron sights or burst fire though.” Bart said. “I don’t know that much about these, but since we’re so close to Sweden, then maybe?”

“I’ll bring it up with the other Officers to see if we can take a look on the other side of the Oresund for an army base.” Geert told him. “Guns aside, how are you doing?”

“Wound’s getting better for one.” Bart said. He brushed a hoof against his injured neck, he still had some stitches in but at this point he was almost as good as new. “And I think my English is improving. But I am yet not good enough.”

“Not good enough yet.” Geert corrected politely. “And how’s morale?” The red feathered parrot sat down on a bench next to one of the weapon cages.

“Morale?”

“Yes, morale. You didn’t look too good when you woke up weeks ago, you told me yourself at the time.” He said waving his talons.

“And I had my reasons. I try not to think about it too much, what happened before the Event only serves to make me sad or angry.” The stallion said with a shake of his head. “I don’t know how you cope with life changing events, but I’d rather put it behind me lest it drags me down forever. But I could ask you the same thing, how are you coping with all those changes?”

“Easy enough I’d say. I keep getting caught on the extra joint mobility and prehensile feet but otherwise…” He shrugged. “I literally got promoted the moment we hit Zeebrugge and got a job as Fourth Officer on this ship, can’t complain really.”

“Yeah, I wouldn’t complain either in your case. What I was trying to refer to was…”

“The female part, I know.”

“So? I heard about all sorts of cases on this ship. Your Chief Officer didn’t have his sexuality changed, but others did, which I can honestly understand however weird that must feel. Comes with the body you know…” The blue furred stallion got a distant look on his muzzle. “God knows I had some weird dreams about horses… or ponies, whatever. Lemme tell you, hooves aren’t the most practical thing, if you know what I mean. You?”

Despite his sitting position, Geert was still taller than the pony. He starred at him with a flat look for a second before clicking his large black and white beak.

“That’s really all you wanna know, don’t you?”

“Can’t help my curiosity, Officer.” Bart said in a fakely apologetic tone. “You gotta admit, it’s an interesting subject.”

“If you really got to know, I wound up bisexual for some reason, and I’d much rather ignore that newfound aspect and focus on my work.”

“Gonna bite you in the ass later you know? Can’t blame you for the decision and you’ve got my sympathy, but it will. In fact, I’d bet the more survivors we meet, the less you will be treated as male.” Bart warned his superior.

“I’ll take the risk.” Geert said, an annoyed trill escaping his beak. “Treated as female though?”

“Can’t expect anyone to figure at a glance you used to be male.” Bart said, already starting to turn back towards his workbench. “Everyone on this ship may know it, but others? They’ll be calling you Miss and she soon enough and you can’t blame them for not knowing.”

Geert’s narrow shoulders sagged a bit as the remark hit him. He knew that, he had met Jensen earlier that day and had to correct the batpony, hell, he even had to correct Bart the first time he talked to him. Not helping the case were crewmembers like Aleksei, Micha or even Farkas who didn’t seem to mind the change in appellation.

“It’s like struggling against the tide isn’t it?” He sighed.

“If only it was the tide, then you’d be suited to fight back, dutchie. Unfortunately…”

“I know, no need to rub it in.” Geert saidwith a dismissive wave of his talons.

Not willing to antagonize the only shipmate he could reliably talk to (and an Officer at that), Bart steered the conversation towards more neutral subjects, electing to start talking about hobbies, sports, anything but the impact of the Event on the sexuality of their genderbent shipmates. Turns out, Geert had some interesting topics to talk about, what with the parrot’s apparent passion for baseball. Not exactly the most common of choices in the Netherlands, but the sport did have its niche despite the lack of any world-renowned team or league. Bart had never played the sport seriously, unlike Geert whose eyes lit up at the mention of some interesting anecdotes on what happened in the big leagues.

Not an hour into their conversation, the two of them were disturbed by the ringing of the interphone. Alejandro was calling from the bridge to tell them to get the armory ready for a large influx of new guns; the convoy in Slagelse was heading back.

“Hold on, weren’t those weapons meant for the Rhine?” Geert asked the Chief Officer.

“They are. They just haven’t had the time to build an armory yet, so we’re keeping them safe in the meantime. Same goes for the ammunition, and from what I was told we can expect a ton of it. You guys think you can manage to make some room?”

And they could. The armory still had more than enough empty cages for the guns, they had made sure to build some extras during the construction of the new compartments in case they picked up more weapon systems or equipment in the future. Little effort was needed on the part of Bart and Geert to ready the cages, which was rather convenient since the time it took them to do it was just as long as it took the convoy to make its way back to the terminal.

And with the convoy came the surprise of the day. They didn’t encounter any hostile monsters during their expedition (though there were hints of monstrous presence in the region), nor did they find any survivor to rescue. What they did find however…

“You stole a goddamned tank?!” Alejandro burst out as he saw the vehicles they had brought back on some trailers attached to lorries they definitely didn’t have when they set out from Copenhagen.

“Not a tank, it’s an APC.” Rhine Forest’s Second Engineer pointed out. The griffon was a mix of a red kite on his avian half and an ocelot for the feline half going by the name of Valentyn, a Ukrainian.

“Semantics. What made you think we needed… those!” The hyacinth macaw said, pointing a talon at the armored vehicles on the trailers.

What he was gesturing at was a trio of camouflaged, eight-wheeled APC’s. Each of the vehicles was armed with a remotely operated turret on the front, their guns (fortunately) removed for transportation and the weapon system wrapped in a protective tarp. All of them were also equipped with slat armor around the hull and, from the apparent bolt here and there, additional ceramic armor plates. They were still soundly secured to their transport trailers… and apparently they had even taken an entire container worth of extra parts for the vehicles, all in accordance to Amandine’s standard salvaging procedures.

“For fighting monsters.” The griffon Engineer shrugged. “Should be a lot safer than the unimogs. And they mount .50 cals on the turret, that’s not the kind of firepower monsters can shrug off, no?”

“Yeah, ‘cause we sure like to go out of our way to pick a fight with these creatures.” Alejandro said sarcastically.

“They’re NBC protected. That’s got to have some use, right?”

“So now you want us to venture into Gothenburg?” Amandine’s Chief Officer was incredulous. “Listen…” He said, pinching his beak. “I get the intent, really, I do… but we’re not the military. Those things aren’t toys; we can’t just get in and drive them around like it’s nothing. It takes skill, training and most of all time to train crews for vehicles like that.”

It was exactly at that moment that Bart and Geert chose to come out of the armory. The military unicorn’s eyes immediately drifted to the APC’s and lit up with recognition. Neither Alejandro nor Valentyn missed the look, the griffon quickly putting the pieces together when he noticed the beret Bart was wearing.

“Piranhas, we used them in my unit.” The Belgian slowly declared. “Good vehicle, very sturdy.”

Fortunately for his sake, Bart completely missed the scathing look Alejandro was drilling in the back of his neck. Valentyn on the other claw was giving Amandine’s Chief Officer the cheekiest grin he had ever seen.

“Just put them in storage for now. We will have a word with the Captains later to see what use we can get out of them.” Alejandro sternly said.

The expedition’s other pick in military vehicle didn’t rouse nearly as much protest. They had grabbed an armored ambulance, a Duro as it was named. It was painted olive green, with red crosses on the hood and on its sides. It was also fairly long, with three axles supporting the hull which was raised fairly high so as to give it good ground clearance. Racks on the roof behind the ambulance’s emergency lighting might even allow it to assemble its own medical tent when out in the field. Nobody really had anything to say against that pick, it clearly could be of use if they ever had to send medical assistance to an expedition.

At that point, Alejandro didn’t look too much into what kind of equipment the sailors from the Rhine had picked. The Danish army weapons they had taken from the base were a mix of Canadian assault rifles with some German weapons added in the mix. Among that mix, Valentyn had also taken an honestly astounding amount of .50 cal machineguns, a lot more than what was needed to outfit the APC’s. The Engineer’s idea was to use the extras as crew served weapons to guard their checkpoints and as deck mounts to protect the direct vicinity of their ships.

In any case, all these weapons went in secure storage. Most of Rhine Forest’s crew didn’t have any experience with weapons yet, and security duties would have to be left to Amandine’s crew until they got some training.

Some seven hundred kilometers North-East of Copenhagen, activity was brewing. Stockholm, a city that used to be a beacon of modern society and Nordic culture was now nothing but a desert urban landscape, its inhabitants all having disappeared in the wake of the Event. The city was built in an area that had a rocky archipelago to protect it from the Baltic Sea, the waterways making for an intricate natural network of canals over which many bridges had been built to link the different districts.

On one such island in the very centre of the city was the Royal Palace. On the façade of the grand, square-shaped building, an emblem representing three crowns in a triangular pattern had been carved into the stone arch just above the gates.

This was the sight that greeted the group of ponies that suddenly appeared in the courtyard in a flash of light. There were five of the equines in the group: two unicorns, two pegasi, and one large earth pony. All of them were standing inside of a runic circle that had burned itself into the pavement of the courtyard, clad in travelling gear. Of all the ponies in the group, only one of the two pegasi was actually armed, and even then just with a small hunting crossbow to accompany the gambeson the stallion was wearing. The group’s apparent protector was giving the buildings around them a wary look, which was only shared by the earth pony stallion of the group.

The leader of the group, a red unicorn mare wearing a white hooded cloak quickly ran a check to make sure every part of their crossing had gone smoothly. Magical travel across humongous distances like that was no small feat, and the slightest mistake could lead to somepony, or worse, part of somepony being lost in the process. Once she was certain their situation was stable, she gave a subtle nod before motioning to her companions with a hoof.

“Alright everypony, time to find us some survivors.” She declared confidently. “Radiant, Gust, can you run a quick recon for us?” She asked the group’s two Pegasi. “Remember to stick together.”

“Yes ma’am.” Gust, the crossbowcolt, said firmly before taking off. The other Pegasus followed a couple seconds later, his reaction to the order nowhere near as quick as that of the armed Pegasus.

Back on the ground, the lead mare turned to the last two ponies of the group. The lanky yellow unicorn mare that served as her backup was looking giddy, her large curious eyes flicking in every direction as she tried to take in every aspect of that new alien city at once. Her companion however, had a much more cautious look on his muzzle. Good, she could use a big burly stallion that could keep his head on his shoulders, Earth Pony musculature was much too often dismissed.

“Cheese, Pulp, let’s work on finding a safe building to make camp. I need a safe place to start casting mage sight otherwise finding survivors will be harder than looking for a needle in a haystack blindfolded.”

Doctor Sidereal Venture was now on Earth, and she would be bucked all the way to Tartarus if she completed her route without finding any survivor.

Author's Note

Enter the Equestrians... Though getting all the way from the Stockholm archipelago to the Oresund is going to take them a while, and they might have a few nasty surprises on the way.

On a meta level I don't know why but the weekly views on this story plummeted last week. Might be related to Easter, or I managed to bore my reader base.

Chapter 27: Wakey Wakey

The day following the expedition in Slagelse, several of both vessels’ Officers and Engineers found themselves gathered inside of Captain Gerig’s office. The pink teenaged unicorn was sitting behind his desk, chin resting on one hoof in a pensive manner as his Chief Engineer gave a presentation on potential modifications they could do to their barge carrier. As much as he loathed admitting it, Erik had been far quicker to accommodate to his transformation than he himself was despite the centaur mare’s injured status. Bandages were wrapped around his shoulder, the white fabric barely visible beneath his clothes; and his broken wrist was plastered.

Gerig still couldn’t wrap his mind around the fact that one: he had turned into a mare; and two: now he had to interact with objects using his mind. Seeing objects levitate around him at his command kept throwing him off regardless of how much he exercised with the ability. Him shrinking to the size of a large dog didn’t help his mood either.

Erik on the other hoof (hoof? He meant to think hand…) had seemingly managed to push most of the implications of his own changes to the back of his mind and hurry along with resizing a couple of his clothes for his new centaur body. The humanoid half was rather easy to dress as it was effectively just a smaller human upper body. The equine half though couldn’t just be clothed with refitted human attire due to its sheer size (unlike unicorns and batponies who could adjust a set of coveralls to fit their new frame). What his Chief Engineer had come up with was apparently called a dress sheet, something horse handlers dressed their horses in for competitions. Erik had copied the pattern and used it on some salvaged bits of nomex fabric to keep his quadruped body semi-decent.

And now the red skinned centaur was standing next to the office’s projector screen which was showing a cross section of the Rhine Forest.

“So this modification would remove the two foremost lighter stacks and replace them with containers. The cell guides we already have in place for the lighters would be supplemented by additional ones to make up a holding structure to easily keep them secured.”

“So that’s extra cargo?” Dilip interrupted.

“Not exactly.” Erik shook his head, one of his large ears twitching. He flicked a finger towards some passageways on the cross section. “My intention was to have these containers be used as modular compartments, at least for the bottom layers. The containers would be stowed sideways on, that’s two of them across the width of the ship. They would be connected to passageways on the sides and in the center of the vessel, which also come with connector pieces for water, electricity and firefighting systems. The passageways also allow us to access the cargo inside of the containers while at sea, which we currently cannot do with the most of our barges. By my measurements, that would grant the Rhine Forest a capacity of 144 forty-foot containers, or 288 TEU with a maximum load of 4200 net tons worth of cargo.”

“That’s nice and all.” Schmitt said with a frown. “Also solves your need for an armory while leaving options for additional berthing, workshops or anything you may want. But how do you intend to make it feasible?”

“First priority goes to building a watertight bulkhead between the barge section and the potential container racks, ideally with a cofferdam, double layer structure and bilge pumps. That’s the biggest part of the change after the passageways for the containers, the cell guides should be easy to make. I don’t foresee a need to change the ballast system or any negative impact on stability from the containers, but we may have to load more ballast on the fore end to compensate for changes in trim. The structure for the passageways is not that complicated either, but we will need to use a lot of rubber seals to prevent water ingress inside of the new compartments.”

“What if the water flows below the containers?” Dilip asked.

“The barge stowage sections already have vacuum pumps to evacuate water egress; the sheer capacity they can put out is enough to get us through the roughest of storms.” Gerig told the Indian.

“As he said.” Erik said before moving on to the next slide, one that showed a drawing of the Rhine’s gantry crane. “Now, since I doubt we can expect shore cranes to remain in working order, I also have plans for a modification to our crane system that would outfit it with a foldable extension on either side of the gantry. This, combined with a spreader piece on the crane should make it possible to lift containers, be they loaded on barges or on the quays next to the ship.” The centaur told his audience, pointing to highlighted drawings above the crane’s structure. “Now, the modular containerized compartments are one thing, and provided the plans are given the green light I will then move on to drafting the work procedure for their installation and a list of the required parts and materials. There is one more thing though. Amadi?” Erik asked another centaur, this one a stallion.

Said centaur stallion was the chief of Rhine Forest’s barge department and, just like Erik, a pony based centaur (contrarily to some other centaurs that had a deer half). Stallions were about the same size as mares for this species in particular, but with a stockier equine half and a distinctly more masculine humanoid half (in spite of the mares’ lack of breasts on their humanoid half). Amadi also had a pair of horns just above his large mobile ears, one of which he was currently rubbing pensively. The Liberian’s skin tone had turned from black to a dull red, which combined with his grey ‘mane’ and coat to make him appear older than his actual 34 years of age.

“Yes, I also have some potential modifications to present.” He told the assembled Officers as he walked up next to Erik and moved on to his part of the PowerPoint. It showed pictures of several small crafts: patrol boats, trawlers and even a hovercraft. All those pictures were laid next to a general drawing of the Rhine Forest.

“I believe we can go even further than what Erik here has proposed.” He began. “As you all know, we have a small fleet of six tugboats to manipulate and tow our cargo barges once they’re down in the water. My idea was to further extend that fleet of boats…” He pointed to the slide. “… with auxiliary crafts that would be able to fulfill any task we may need to do, while also having more range than the tugboats. Now, it’s not as simple as it sounds, our tugs’ hulls are designed in such a way that they can be lifted and set down safely without sustaining damage to their structure. Extending that to other vessels is no small matter, but I have already drafted several ideas that may make this viable.” He told them.

The centaur continued the presentation with the next slide, one that showed a drawing of a patrol boat held in place by what looked like a large cradle with floats, hooks for the crane and a simple pump system. Another drawing next to it showed the same boat but with the hooks on the deck and a… structure of sorts below the waterline that was supposed to keep it upright when the crane stowed it on board. The latter system was quickly rejected, but both Captains showed a lot of interest towards the concept in spite of how outlandish it may have seemed. Amadi’s idea even went further than just equipping the barge carrier with a fleet of small crafts when he showed them potential plans for a refueling system that would allow them to do fuel transfers with the small crafts without having to lift them onboard or rig a potentially leaky hose. It was really just an adaptation of navy transfer systems for replenishment at sea, but it had potential.

Shortly after the two centaurs' presentation, the assembled Officers devolved into a discussion on how to make it possible. Dilip was quick to offer Amandine’s crew assistance towards helping build those modifications which would be far more extensive than the workshop and armory they had built back in Antwerp. A lot of arguing concerned the acquisition of the resources needed to make the changes, as well as the boats Amadi wanted to add to the Rhine’s complement. The ships in particular would be far harder to acquire than regular parts and shipbuilding-grade steel.

They did eventually come to an agreement on the modifications, regardless of how large the endeavor would be. Someone even brought up the idea on how the Maersk HQ may have some intel on the location of shipbuilding components.

Before the assembled Officers had time to scatter, Dilip stood up and rasped his throat.

“There is one more announcement that needs to be made I believe.” He began. “It is something everyone on Amandine already knows, but I needed to ask for approval from our… secret contractor so to speak, before revealing it.”

Looks of recognition immediately appeared in the eyes of Amandine’s Officers while those of the Rhine Forest only sported a puzzled look. Were they not supposedly alone on earth now? So why was he speaking of a ‘contractor’ all of a sudden?

“This is something that involves an offshoot of the UN Security Council, a secretive organization going by the name of Human Preservation Initiative. That’s HPI for short.”

“Lemme guess.” Erik drawled. “Super secret group that survived the apocalypse by hiding in a bunker?”

“Basically. They didn’t get away with it completely unscathed, that much Angelo here can tell you. I could drag on for a while about them but passing you the memo will be shorter. What we did for them is helping them shut down the European nuclear grid and things progressed from there.” Dilip explained. “We have a contract with them now, we provide items they can’t get because they’re stuck inside their bunker, and they manufacture parts for us in exchange.”

“At least that’s the idea. We’re still waiting to make our first delivery.” Alejandro added. “They also gave us administrator access to several satellite services, mostly for weather, military-grade GPS and to locate survivors by tracking down satellite users.”

“And was it successful?”

“We have yet to try out the tracking.” Dilip admitted with a shrug. “Main thing is: there is a group of human survivors in America, and another somewhere in Asia, with which we sort of have a trade agreement. I asked them if I could bring your crew up to snuff with that, and they let us. One of their agents may soon contact you via satcom, but not a single word is to be said about them to other survivors if we find any, got it? I’ll send the memo once I get back to my office.”

Gerig crossed his forehooves and stared down pensively at his desk, a white strand from his mane falling down in front of the small unicorn’s blue eyes.

“That’s a game changer you’ve dropped on us there…” He muttered. “You do realize…”

“… How risky it can be to trust a secret group like that, yes. But the ability to trade art pieces -among other things- for parts could save us in the long run.” Dilip said.

The teenaged mare in a pilot shirt lifted his eyes towards the Indian. He could see the rest of his Officers behind Dilip, all of them with puzzled looks. He would have to address that later.

“At least you’re aware of that. What kind of stuff do they have you retrieve?”

“Art pieces are the most lucrative of all; they want to preserve human culture as best as they can, or so they said. We’ve got two TEU worth of paintings right now, and one sealed FEU with prototypes from a lost facility in France. They also value data banks, archives, and raw materials to a lesser extent. At least that’s the case for the contract they had us sign, I have no idea whether or not they’re going to offer such a deal to you.”

And that’s something they indeed would have to wait to figure out. In the meantime, the Engineering Officers of both vessels split off to go discuss the future modifications while the Deck Officers left to begin the daily expeditions around Copenhagen. There was a lot of work to be done, and today was also when they wanted to hit the big targets like the Maersk HQ and the UN City, in addition to doing some training.

A few minutes later, Vadim found himself inside of Rhine Forest’s infirmary with their doctor. The griffon had begrudgingly accepted his fate and went on with the advanced medical training under the French hippogriff’s tutelage. She had given the poor Ukrainian a lot of medical texts to wade through and study, and she also didn’t hesitate to question him at every turn to test his knowledge.

On the bright side, turns out he wasn’t that bad either. The single fact of knowing his medical abilities weren’t abysmally low at least managed to raise the grey falcon griffon’s morale, if only by a small margin.

“And this blood group you claim you discovered?” Camille asked. The doctor seemed particularly insistent on everyone calling her by her first name.

The information didn’t go only one way either. Vadim had a lot of medical notes and research he had made during the last few weeks to share with her, which made it so that his knowledge of post-Event species was better than Camille’s. His own notes on blood groups and medical parameters were a significant help towards the treatment of Rhine’s injured crewmembers.

“Group C as I called it, yes. As I said, I have yet to find an individual that doesn’t share the same group as the rest of the species he has turned into. In your case, I have found hippogriffs to be AC. The marker C, I have also found in group BC on gargoyles and group C on the sole unicorn I sampled.” Vadim told her.

“But by A and B…”

“I mean the very same A and B found on humans, yes.” The griffon said, drumming his talons on Camille’s desk. “I have done compatibility tests with blood samples I retrieved from a military clinic in Zeebrugge, and the blood was indeed transfusable without incident.”

“But so far, your sources only come from an admittedly small sample group. We need to extend that testing to the crew of Rhine Forest, and the same goes for medical parameters.”

“My data on those isn’t complete to begin with.” Vadim said. “I only have a few species so far, but the values are still widely different from humans. Look at the heartbeat of a resting griffon, the dual heart structure alone makes for completely different results.” He waved a talon above his notes.

“A resting griffon indeed. Do you have any values for parameters during and after physical exercises?”

“Not yet I’m afraid. I had the tests planned, but not the time to do them.” Vadim apologized.

Adapting Camille’s knowledge to the vast array of species that composed the crews would prove to be a difficult, lengthy process. Vadim’s talons had only managed to scratch the surface of an entirely new field of medicine, and even Camille was out of her field of expertise if she was honest. A lot of testing had to be scheduled, even though they were still limited by the equipment they had on claw. Camille should be able to do some more extensive blood tests, but nowhere near as much as what a shore lab would be able to, unless…

“So you want to raid a hospital?” Vadim asked.

“Not yet, neither mine nor your infirmary has the room for the equipment I have in mind.” Camille answered. The orange hippogriff was busily taking notes on her computer, all the while she had some manuals open on her desk. She flicked her head to get her blue crest feathers out of her eyes, an annoyed trill escaping her nostrils. “Those modifications they have planned, surely I can request a container or two to fit a lab when it’s done… Oh, and a MRI scanner too, we’ll need complete imagery to know what’s inside if we want to do our work correctly!” She added as an afterthought.

“I wouldn’t hurry too much with the imaging if I were you. Those modifications they have planned certainly won’t be done overnight, that much I can tell you.” Vadim warned her.

For all the good that warning did. The doctor waved away the Ukrainian’s remark and told him it was of no importance. With ideas already written down for her laboratory, Camille moved on to giving him his first lessons on medical treatments, the hippogriff beginning a long-winded rant on trauma to the digestive track and possible techniques for treatment.

A few meters away from the doctor’s office, still inside the infirmary, one patient was waking up. Of all the casualties that occurred after the reappearance of the Rhine, Sebastien Wouters might have been the unluckiest of all. The Belgian cadet’s injuries had resulted in him falling unconscious from the blood loss, thus completely missing most of the Event except for the scant few seconds that preceded the accident that brought him to the infirmary.

On the bright side, he wouldn’t be as roughly shaken as the rest of the crew; on the other hoof he had yet to discover the transformation wasn’t just a weird fever dream of his. And that very discovery was just about to occur as the parameters shown on the medical monitor he was hooked up to rose slowly.

Large eyelids fluttered groggily, revealing a pair of magenta eyes to the world. His mind was still foggy, trying to piece together what had happened and what were the blurry shapes surrounding him. His body felt odd, the sensations coming from his limbs… unnatural. Moreover he was completely sapped of any form of strength. A dull ache in his side and the telltale beeping of a heart monitor soon told him he had been injured, and brought to an infirmary, if not to a hospital. The tube he felt in his throat also told him he had been intubated.

He closed his eyes again. Opening them felt way too strenuous at the moment. He tried to focus on the conflicting sensations he was getting from his body. His ears felt odd, he was pretty sure they shouldn’t be twitching every time he heard something; and he couldn’t feel his fingers. He desperately tried to flex them, believing for an instant that whatever had sent him to the hospital had robbed him of his hands.

The motion, or rather the attempt at one, sent a tremor through his body which made the pain in his side spike abruptly. His eyes flew open and he let out a gasp which sounded more like a high-pitched whinny than anything he was used to hear from himself.

His whinny must have attracted some attention because not a second later he heard some rustling and mumbling close by. Blurry shapes clustered around him, with one prominent grey and blue one coming to his bedside. He felt a hand stroke the top of his head, but the touch felt odd, as if whoever owned the appendage hadn’t clipped their nails in years. His hair felt a lot longer than it had any right to be too, had he been out for so long? Still, the touch felt good and the grey blur made soothing noises to calm him down. He allowed his eyes to close once more.

“Seb’?” He heard. He recognized the voice as that of Carla, but the timbre felt different, rougher. Did his girlfriend take up smoking or something?

He tried to croak out an answer, but his parched, blocked throat only allowed him to release a groaning sound.

“Carla, that’s no good. You can clearly see she’s out cold.” He heard another voice say. That one belonged to one of the engine cadets, Frederik, the youngest of them.

Sebastien let out another groan to contradict the German, the effort feeling as if he was gargling drill bits. And did he just call him ‘she’?

“Shhh, don’t do that.” Carla told him, not stopping her stroking. “We’ll get you some water; that ought to make you feel better.”

“Your medical know-how astounds me.” Frederik said sarcastically.

“Shut your trap and go get the doctor Fred.” Carla told the other cadet icily.

“Yeah yeah, fine. No need to get angry over something like that. You get to tell him what happened, I’m sure she will like it.”

Sebastien heard the German walk away. His girlfriend let out an annoyed huff, hand wrapping around a lock of his hair (which shouldn’t be possible, he had never worn his hair that long).

“He’s right though…” Carla sighed, switching to Dutch. “Seb’, do you remember something err… bizarre happening before you lost consciousness? Just nod if something like uh, I don’t know… your fingers disappearing happened.”

They did. One moment he was working a winch, and the next thing he knew his fingers lost grip on the brake lever and everything spiraled out of control. He nodded feebly, the muscles in his neck still feeling like putty, but a dreadful feeling was starting to build up in his gut. Was he a cripple now?

“You were injured…” Carla explained. “Fell unconscious from blood loss, so it’s natural you wouldn’t remember anything of what happened…”

Oh no…

“Seb’, do you believe in time travel?”

Wait what?

His girlfriend must have sensed in confusion because he felt her hand stop stroking his hair for a second.

“I swear it’s not a prank.” She said. “We… sort of travelled a few weeks ahead in time. It’s mid-June now. But… you’ve got to see this to believe it. Can you try not to panic?”

He nodded.

“Open your eyes, slowly. But please stay calm; we’re all victims in this situation.”

What was she getting at? Victims? Sebastien struggled to open his eyes, everything around him was still a blur but he forced himself to focus and keep his eyes open until the fog cleared. He could recognize the blurry room he was in as Rhine Forest’s infirmary, and he was on his back in one of the beds, the curtains drawn around it and one grey and blue blur by his side. He slowly turned his head towards it, noting in passing that there were two dark red things in his vision, one above his eyes, and the other, larger, beneath. He forced himself to focus on the shape from where his girlfriend’s distorted voice had come, the image gradually becoming clearer.

The image becoming clearer didn’t make it any easier to comprehend. Instead of the tanned figure of his girlfriend, what he saw was some sort of quadruped avian creature dressed in the company’s usual set of white coveralls. The creature had the head of a seabird (a cormorant probably? He wasn’t sure) and was covered in grey feathers. A mane (or crest maybe) of blue feathers sat on top its head (or hers? Was this Carla?) head, which were the same color as the two eyes that were staring at him in sympathy. A pair of long, mobile feathery ears occupied the sides of its angular head which ended in a dark grey beak with a downward hook at its tip.

“Yes, it’s me, Carla.” The creature told him softly, catching on his confusion.

Then why was the back of his mind telling him ‘dude’ when he looked at her?

“Seb’…” She began slowly. “I’m not the only one that has changed like that. Everyone has. Fred’s like me, a hippogriff now…” She stood up (up until now she had been sitting on her haunches in a chair) and turned sideways for Seb to get a good look at her before sitting back down.

Wait like the hippogriffs in Harry Potter? They weren’t that colorful in the movie last he checked!

“Please, I want you to take this slowly. You transformed, like everyone. In fact you’re the same species as the Captain. A unicorn.” She told him. “Do not panic.”

Carla pressed a button on the side of his bed which made his head rise. Strands of spiky royal blue hair fell down on the edge of his vision, and Sebastien finally got a look at himself. If the creature claiming to be his girlfriend was right then the unicorn he had become was much smaller than he used to be: the bed around him felt gigantic. Above the white bed sheets, he could see two dark red furry limbs which ended in hooves. One was connected to an IV at the… elbow probably (if it was even called that anymore), and the other had a medical armband wrapped tightly around it that connected to the heart rate and blood pressure monitor above his bed.

She wrapped one grey claw around his hoof and gave it a gentle squeeze, the hippogriff bearing a soft smile on her beak (and how that was even possible, he had no clue). He could still feel her other claw stroking his head, the blue strands of hair on the edge of his vision rustling as she made swirling motions with the appendage.

“See? No need to be alarmed just yet. You’re a tough guy right? Nothing like that can get to you.” She reassured him. “Do you want to see your face?”

Sebastien forced a weak nod.

His girlfriend pulled out a phone out of her coveralls’ pocket, the sight of the item immediately erasing any doubt he had left that the hippogriff might not be Carla. No one else he knew had that graffiti pattern on their phone’s case, because she had painted it herself. She turned on her phone’s camera and pointed the screen at Sebastien.

On the small screen, an equine face with a short, softly curved muzzle stared back at him. Two large magenta eyes looked on in surprise, each of them having prominent eyelashes. At one point on his forehead, the dark red fur that covered his face traded place with royal blue, the hair lengthening in a spiky mane far longer than he had ever worn his hair. A small, soft-tipped horn poked out of that mess of an haircut on his forehead (hence Carla calling him a unicorn); and finally two large ears sat on top of his head, each the same dark red as the rest of his new coat of fur.

And by the appearance of the features on his face, one thought was nibbling at the back of his mind that Fred might have had a reason behind calling him a ‘she’. Still mute thanks in no small part to the tube in his throat, the injured Belgian conveyed to his girlfriend he wanted to pull off the sheets that covered the rest of his body.

“Are you sure you want to do that? There is no hurry you know…” She hesitated, eyes glancing in the direction of Doc Delacroix’s office. Fred was really starting to take his time.

Sebastien made an insistent noise.

Resigning herself to having to soothe a soon-to-be very distressed boyfriend, she reluctantly pulled the sheets off of Sebastien’s body in one swift motion.

The wounded unicorn’s eyes trailed down his transformed body in wonder. Bandages covered his barrel, but he was otherwise naked. Going past the bandages, his eyes landed on something he was pretty sure shouldn’t be there.

For he was damn certain he wasn’t supposed to have teats between his legs. The sinking feeling he had in his gut started mounting rapidly as his eyes scanned desperately for his dick, not finding it anywhere between his legs. He spotted a catheter tube filled with yellow liquid connected to a bag on the bed’s frame, his eyes followed the tube in hopes of finding it.

But the tube just dove between his furry thighs…

The final pieces of the puzzle clicked together in his mind, all thoughts grinding to a sudden abrupt halt.

“I’m so sorry Seb…” Carlas whispered, her claw squeezing his hoof.

Sebastien fainted.

While the Rhine’s cadets were having some transformation-induced drama, the rest of the personnel around the docks were actually trying to get work done. Artyom had finished building his kill house inside of a commandeered warehouse, and he had requested his first batch of trainees for that day. This time, only Nikola had been available to help him, Sri being occupied with assembling a shooting range somewhere else on the docks to give some basic weapon training to the sailors of the Rhine Forest. Bart had joined them to provide some input, his English having significantly improved in a short span of time. The stallion still wasn’t grammatically correct most of the time (and that was putting it mildly) but he could manage to get his point across in a pinch.

Following an agreement with Alejandro, Artyom had promised he would spare some time to do firefighting and emergency response training after the combat part. The crew had to get accustomed to using their emergency equipment and SCBA’s with their new bodies, or the next accident that occurred on board would spell their doom.

Thus now the blue dragon found himself staring down at a rat maze of a kill house from his position on top of a makeshift scaffolding walkway. The position allowed him to keep track of the group inside the plywood structure he had made for their training. Large sheets of plexiglass had been added as a transparent roof to keep the smoke in once they moved on to firefighting training, or just to keep stray shots from escaping the training area (they were only training with their FN 303’s, not with live guns, naturally).

Yes, he knew that was a wasteful use of plexiglass but he had found a couple containers of two-meters-by-three sheets and he would be damned if he didn’t put them to some use.

The structure he had come up with had been kept simple for the sake of the crew’s status as novices: not too complicated or with too many angles to watch out for, but with as many possibilities as he could think of off the top of his head to highlight certain types of approach. He had even gone the extra mile and made two different staircases and an ‘upper floor’ to force them to think vertically.

Not too shabby for something he had put together in one day.

The rooms and hallways were willingly kept narrow to mimic a ship’s interior. Lacking the time to do it and not seeing an added benefit to it, Artyom had kept himself from placing furniture inside except for the mannequins that served as their training targets. The sailors inside had been given simple instructions about it: red paint on the mannequin meant bad guy, blue was for non-combatants, and green for VIP when the exercise called for it.

Right now, he was simply having them walk through an exercise with red targets. Nikola was inside the maze, the gargoyle trailing behind the group of three sailors they were training and giving them instructions on how to make their approach properly.

“Learn fast.” Bart commented next to him, seeing one sailor shoot the first target in their path.

That first sailor was Ivan, the female osprey griffon that usually kept watch alongside Geert when they were at sea. The Ukrainian’s approach was correct, if a bit slow. His marksmanship left a bit to be desired, two of the three shots he fired out of his pistol at the target missing, but he was a beginner at this kind of training. Behind him, Danny and Nguyen followed; the parrot and the cat sweeping the corners with their own weapons, the carbine variants of the 303.

“Their basics in firefighting must translate reasonably well.” Artyom guessed. Damage control did train them in moving through enclosed spaces like that. “Oi! Keep someone watching your six!” He yelled at them, seeing all three trainees start to focus their aim in the same direction.

Danny was the one to react at that remark, gun swiveling to aim at the door they had entered from. The yellow feathered female parrot was clad in the usual orange coveralls of Amandine’s crew, with a flak jacket on and a pair of protective goggles. They didn’t need to wear hearing protection yet, not until they started using stun grenades for entry exercises.

Said parrot crewmember had quite a few ongoing rumors surrounding her recently. If the ratings’ grapevine was to be believed, she was at the moment the sailor that had gotten the most ‘daring ‘with her changes, so to speak. That or the story of her supposed one night stand with Carlos was complete bullshit. Artyom had a hard time believing the electrician could have managed to convince a formerly macho, middle-aged Filipino like Danny to ‘give it a try’. Her behavior hadn’t changed that drastically following their reappearance.

And yet there were multiple tales of Danny having been seen exiting Carlos’ room. Granted, the Russian vet’s refusal to believe the story was also linked to him having bet a couple bottles of liquor that Micha and Vadim would be the first couple to go at it.

“See something?” Bart asked him.

“Uh… No. Why the question?” Artyom said.

“Look on your face.” The unicorn shrugged.

“Just thinking is all, nothing important.” The Russian said.

Of the three sailors in the current batch of trainees, Nguyen might have been the least enthusiastic of them despite being the only one to have actually faced monsters. Artyom didn’t blame the brown furred cat for that; he was just a cook after all. In fact he’d consider himself pretty stupid to hold any of his fellow sailors to military standards, they weren’t soldiers. He only wished to train them enough that they would not accidentally shoot a friendly if backed into a CQB situation.

The dragon’s grip tightened around the walkway’s railing. He would not lose any of his shipmates to monsters.

“I have one idea.” Bart proposed as they watched Nguyen engage the targets in the next room, the cat making a decent effort of using the doorframe as cover. “Do you know…” He hesitated. “… Combat sports? Karate, Judo?” He asked him, making a chopping motion with his hoof for emphasis.

“Martial arts you mean?” Artyom quirked a scaled eye ridge at the blue unicorn. “I used to practice Systema in the military, but I haven’t done any since ’95. You want an expert in martial arts, ask Alejandro.”

Bart gave him an inquisitive look.

“The Chief Officer.” He explained. “He practices Brazilian Jiu-jitsu, should be able to come up with something if you ask nicely.”

“Bayonets maybe?” Bart proposed.

“That we can do.” Artyom nodded. “I’ll ask Niko and by the end of this training we can spare some time to show them some close range techniques to fend off melee attackers. That good for you?”

The stallion nodded. Nearly every monster they had met with the exception of the electric mites attacked in melee, so they’d better teach their shipmates some techniques to fend off attacks like that.

Down in the kill house, the trio attempted to make a coordinated entry into the next room. Keyword being attempted: Danny accidentally brought his clawed foot down on Ivan’s tail which made the griffon release a piercing squawk. Both of them tripped and fell down in a heap. Behind them, Nguyen didn’t catch on immediately and failed to see his sprawled colleagues since he already had his carbine shouldered and aimed.

On the bright side he didn’t fall. The downside was that the cat already had one clawed digit on the trigger in blatant disrespect of rule three. Him stumbling on his downed teammates made him press the trigger by accident, hitting everything but the target and landing a nice shot in the middle of Danny’s back (and it was at that precise moment that said parrot decided never to remove the Kevlar plates from her flak jacket again).

Artyom pinched the top of his muzzle between two claws and let out a long, drawn-out sigh.

“Will be long day uh…” Bart said.

And what an understatement this would be.

That day’s expedition to the UN City and the Maersk HQ did yield a lot of intelligence of all sorts. Both buildings were nothing particular to look at save for the UN building’s modern architecture and a collection of Maersk ship models (one of which found a place inside Captain Gerig’s office), but the information they got was a treasure trove of sorts.

The fruits of their research had been brought inside of Amandine’s cafeteria for processing. Roberto was among the three poor souls that were tasked with wading through and sorting all the documentation, with the assistance of the Rhine’s own secretary, a female gargoyle (as in: an actual female, not a former dude) going by the name of Monika, and their Logistics Officer, a cat called Bandile that had white fur with a black spot on his throat.

And even with the three of them it was no small task. The recovery teams had been thorough. Rahul had brought them coffee from the confines of his kitchen, and much as he disliked the Indian dog, Roberto was forced to acknowledge they would need it to sift through the mountainous pile of data.

The UN branches located in Copenhagen seemed all focused on humanitarian purposes and a lot of the data they had retrieved contained guides on the development of settlements, agriculture, basic infrastructure as well as how to assist developing populations. They also found some data on medical assistance from the WHO and UNICEF branches, the latter appearing to be a particularly prominent agency in Copenhagen. Several document referred to the supply division’s depot within the city, but weirdly enough none referred to the exact location of the building as if it didn’t even need to be mentioned. This frustrated the trio to no end as they worked their way through the documents; they knew the depot would hold some precious resources they could use and both Captains had been very clear that finding its location should take priority.

Roberto slammed his empty mug of coffee down on the table with an annoyed hiss. This was the fifth document in a row he was reading that mentioned the target but he still hadn’t found the tiniest clue!

“Frustrated?” Monika commented wrily.

The gargoyle was busy processing the data from the Maersk HQ, which was a lot less obscure and much quicker to sort through. Most of that data was already sorted by the company anyway so they only had to upload it on the ship’s server. The team in charge of the modifications to the Rhine had even already claimed all of the files regarding shipbuilding from Maersk’s former shipyard in Odense. Local intelligence files had suffered the same fate, the team being in need of quickly locating the materials needed for the modifications.

Funnily enough, female gargoyles like Monika seemed to be bulkier than males, which gave them a matronly silhouette. They did have breasts, but their mane (ashen grey in Monika’s case) didn’t extend to their neck like males. Oddly enough, they had antlers like the males but lacked a tail. The feminine features on their muzzle were unmistakable, the angles more rounded than on males. The pinkish skin on Monika’s muzzle traded place with a tan coat of fur somewhere around her neck.

“I just can’t seem to find that bloody depot!” Roberto complained. “You got any luck on your side?” He asked Bandile, the other cat being also busy with the UN files.

“Can’t say I have.” Bandile hissed. “It just doesn’t make any sense…”

“Damn right it doesn’t.” Roberto sniffed. “It’s like they don’t even think it’s worth mentioning at all. A depot full of humanitarian supplies and containerized units, but no fucking address!”

The Italian stood up to go set down the files he had been reading in the pile they had made for anything related to medicine. Just a couple more operational procedures and equipment lists from the WHO. Their collection of development aid manuals was growing quickly; at this rate they would have no trouble learning how to grow crops of their own if they wished to.

Roberto grabbed a new stack of documents and moved closer to the window where Rahul had set down a thermos of coffee earlier. After refilling his cup, the cat stopped a second to look at the landscape of the docks around the docks, his eyes landing on a white building off in the distance.

“Can you guys come over here for a second please?” He asked the other two in the cafeteria.

Monika and Bandile gave him a weird stare but otherwise complied silently, not really knowing what the Italian was getting at.

“I will have you know, I like to think of myself as a clever person. Today however, I do declare solemnly that we three have reached the rank of utter fucking idiots.” He announced, still not turning away from the window.

“Hey! Watch what you’re say-“ Bandile protested angrily before Roberto interrupted him with a soft tut-tut, one digit raised.

Roberto lowered the digit to point towards a building on the edge of the docklands. Monika and Bandile squinted for a second before their faces fell in embarrassment.

“Fine… We are idiots.” Bandile admitted while Monika just slumped down in a chair.

On the edge of the docklands, in perfect sight of both the ships and the UN city, was a large warehouse with the UNICEF logo emblazoned on it.

A couple floors above, the Captains were having a discussion around a cup of Dilip’s favorite blend of tea. The topic was nothing too serious; just idle talk for the two of them to confront their ideas against each other. They were sitting in couches around the coffee table in the Indian’s office, the seats normally being used when Dilip had to give presentations in his office.

“That’s some good tea Prateek.” Gerig complimented Amandine’s Captain, the pink unicorn holding the teacup in his telekinesis.

“I’m always on the lookout for good blends but Darjeeling always will be my first pick.” The pariah dog said, taking a sip himself. “But please… just call me Dilip.”

“Call me Raimund then.” Gerig told him. “There was one thing I was thinking about when they brought in the data from the UN building…” He began.

Dilip motioned for him to go on with his paw.

“We know people will start reappearing, correct?”

“Indeed, no clue how fast exactly but they do seem to reappear.”

“And now we have a lot of humanitarian data, and soon aid supplies. You also claim to have access to extensive satellite services…”

“… and you probably will as well.” Dilip completed.

“Irrelevant at the moment. What I mean is, do you think we should look into locating survivors more? Our ships give us access to the entire planet basically, and with this data, surely we can lend assistance to a great many colonies as well.” Raimund said.

“I’m not saying we shouldn’t…”

“Come on now! We have everything to gain from survivors getting back on their feet -or hooves, paws, whatever fits- quickly.”

“Do go on.” Dilip said, leaning back slightly.

“Think about it. We find a group, help them set up their colony, train them, and then we can start rebuilding the industry!” The unicorn claimed.

“The industry? You sure you’re not reaching a bit far there?”

“Not at all. Think about everything we need to run our ships. Food, fuel, parts.” He listed. “Food being the most basic of all, we only have to help a couple groups and they will soon be ready to give us their surplus food if we teach them how to grow crops with the manuals we have. I don’t know about you, but I sure appreciate fresh food in my plate. Go further, find certain groups of skilled survivors, train them, and restart an oil refinery, a factory, anything!”

“Sounds ambitious.” Dilip commented. “We’d have to find the survivors first.”

“Not a matter of ‘if’, only ‘when’.” Raimund told him. “You and I both know how important shipping is to the world, and we have the ships to bring these colonies anything they may and will need. One colony making a lot of food? A little surplus for us, the rest to supply more industrial colonies.”

“Are you saying we should start an empire?”

“A trading company.” The mare corrected him. “Trade is what makes civilizations thrive. We can either choose to lie down and have civilization collapse into isolated, backwater settlements or…”

“…Save what we can. Have those who come back find something noteworthy.” Dilip finished for him.

“Noteworthy? I can tell it won’t be just like before the Event, but give us some credit at least. We have to do this; you know we can’t subsist forever on salvaged resources. At one point or another, we will need manufactured goods, and if we don’t plan ahead I bet that HPI of yours will rob us on their prices.” Raimund said as he tapped a small hoof against the coffee table to make his point.

“That’s one thing. We still have to locate survivors you know, baby steps I’d say, baby steps.”

Raimund straightened up on his haunches a bit. In his rant, a strand of white hair from his mane had escaped the rubber band he was using to keep it behind his head.

“Which makes me think, we have all those satellite services, telecomms to attempt locating them but nobody has the time to do it with all the work we already have piling up on our collective back.” He raised his muzzle to stare right in Dilip’s eyes, the gaze in his baby blue eyes disturbingly intense coming from a teenaged mare. “Except for your latest rescuee, that is.”

“Not a bad idea.” Dilip admitted. “From what she told me, she has a bachelor degree, so she’s far from unskilled. If I fashion her a workstation, maybe in her cabin, I can probably have her comb through every available network and scan satellite pictures. Won’t be enough though, but I may have an idea to help with that.”

“Entertain me.” The unicorn said, spreading out his forehooves.

“Remember the research data I have on monsters and the Event? The demonic circles?” The dog asked.

“Some neat files, rather well made. Why?”

“One of my intentions with those was to trade them to the HPI for extra credits, and maybe ask if they’re interested in the medical data on the species we’ve turned into as well since my Third Officer was looking into that too. Now… what if we traded that intel for the locations of survivors? I’m willing to bet they have several such locations in their database.”

“That might just work. How complete is the data?”

“For now? Sufficient that I can give them a first batch, but I still have much to do before I can call it complete.”

“Then we’ll try tomorrow when they call me.” Raimund nodded. “And you will give your new radio operator a workstation?”

“I will talk to her about it.” Dilip stated before serving himself a new cup of tea. “There is one more thing though…” He began hesitantly.

“You sound like you’re about to walk on burning coals.”

“I might as well since this matter involves you directly.” He told the other Captain flatly. “It’s something I have noticed occurring ever since our crews came across each other. This wasn’t a problem when it was only my ship because they knew each other before the change, but we’re starting to have some issues with the genderbent sailors.”

“Explain.”

The problem wasn’t in fact too complicated to notice. If sailors from one ship could be expected to know their shipmates and keep treating the genderbent sailors like their original gender, such wasn’t the case with other crews. Several -thankfully minor- incidents had already popped up when newly-made females took umbrage at being called Miss by a sailor from the other ship. This wasn’t helped by the fact that some minded way more than others and that, contrarily to Amandine, Rhine Forest had started off with a mixed crew that had actual females and even in one case, a female-to-male transformee.

All in all it made it extremely hard to keep track of how they were supposed to treat who. They couldn’t rely on sight to figure out what they were supposed to call the person they were talking to, and it was unlikely this issue would get better as they found more survivors. Not with the 25 to 35% genderswap rate they had measured so far.

Raimund slumped in his couch and started massaging his temples with his hooves. This wasn’t the kind of issue he wanted anything to do with, yet here he was, directly involved in it.

“I’m just saying…” Dilip said with a shrug.

“It’s fine. I understand.” Raimund sighed. He grabbed his cup of tea and downed it in one go, the still warm liquid from his latest refill burning its way down the mare’s throat.

“Frankly, I want to leave that decision up to you. You having had your gender swapped means they will respect the decision. I can’t justify making it on my own.”

“We’re sailors Dilip. We’re practical folks. They won’t like it… but I say we stop calling a parrot a dog because it can bark, so to say.” Raimund uttered slowly. “They won’t like it, I won’t like it, but it’s necessary for the sake of practicality.”

“So be it.” The pariah dog intoned with a soft nod. “Now, it’s getting late and I still have to approve several expedition plans. Hopefully our guys should have located the depots and supplies we want by now…” He said, standing up.

Raimund hopped off the couch as well, stopping for a second to adjust her clothes with her telekinesis. She did have her pilot shirt and a pair of elastic shorts adjusted for her frame and tail, but they were still pretty loose.

“Still got some work ahead of myself as well. Gotta review the results of my crew’s weapon training for today.” She said.

“I heard they did well enough, your group of vets made sure of that. Do you want to come by later for dinner? I know you’re stuck on a vegetarian diet but my Chief Cook has a pretty good coconut curry recipe.”

“Sure, why not?” The mare accepted. Good cuisine was never something to scoff at.

Author's Note

Yeah, sometimes looking outside your window beats any kind of research.

I've been trying to keep my chapter length more consistent as of recently. I think the 15-to-16-page format allows me to put enough scenes per chapter to bring the story forward, but what's your take?

Chapter 28: Tug Life

Morning rose on the next day to see a group of tugboats pull a column of barges towards another sector of the city. The tugs, coming from the Rhine Forest, were just small twenty-meter long boats that lacked the endurance to set out for full voyages, but they made up for it in sheer bollard pull. Their flat bow and stern sections, with rubber shock pads on both ends, made for poor speed through the water but the construction was ideal for what they were doing at the moment: towing barges.

The Rhine’s fleet of cargo barges didn’t actually have their own propulsion. The sturdy yellow box-shaped crafts relied entirely on the tugs to be moved around the docks, but they still were pretty convenient to ferry around large amounts of cargo. Each of them could hold a respectable 380 tons, which could be either liquid or dry cargo depending on the variant they brought out of the bowels of the large black barge carrier. In this case, both Captains’ orders had been pretty clear: fill every single one of their tanker barges to the brim with fuel (and lubricants too, but they didn’t need quite as much of it). The whole load should bring them to about 7500 tons of assorted fuel (HFO for Amandine, marine diesel for Rhine). The sheer quantity should last them for a while and they might even reach the spoilage date if they didn’t sail around too much. As far as they knew, Schmitt had estimated they had until the end of November before the fuel stored in shore tanks became unusable.

The tanker barges weren’t the only ones attached to the column. Roberto had found the location of a small repair yard within the boundaries of the city; and while its dry-dock was far too small for a behemoth ship like the Rhine, they intended to strip it of every shipbuilding components they could find.

The city district they were headed to was a nautical mile or two south of the container terminal they were moored at, outside the boundaries of Copenhagen’s former layer of fortifications that protected the eastern side of Freetown and Christianshavn. Strips of reclaimed land branched out towards the sea from there, each covered in industrial buildings that were thus kept away from residential areas. The bulk of the column headed further south towards the area where they had located the city’s shore tanks a couple days earlier, all of them clustered near a power plant.

A single tug split up from the rest, the little craft pulling four barges behind it, all four of them designed to carry dry cargo. Instead of going to the tanker terminal like the rest, the tug sailed towards a strip of land a bit closer to their berthing point. The repair yard they approached was nothing particular, its size preventing it from servicing large seagoing vessels but big enough to manage river crafts and houseboats. Its thick floodgates were closed at the moment, the work area behind them dry and separated from the sea. Several tower cranes sprouted out of the weed-riddled concrete ground of the yard at irregular intervals with two more prominent ones set on rails next to the floodgates. A narrow warehouse was also built on one side of the basin while a pile of decrepit caravans next to some containerized offices occupied the other, with piles of scrap and parts all around.

“God damn; that right there is gonna be a bitch to sort through…” Carlos breathed out.

The Filipino from Amandine had been assigned to the team, his role as an electrician justifying his presence that day as he would have to pick out some of the equipment for the systems they planned to install. He wasn’t the only one from the roll-on/roll-off to have been assigned on that team: Angelo was with him, the Greek bringing with him his engineering skills and the raw minotaur strength that allowed him to wield one of their MAG machineguns as if it was a mere varmint rifle.

“We got time.” Angelo tried to reassure him. Both of them were standing near the bow of the tug as the pilot steered the craft on the last approach to the quays nearest the dry-dock.

“Time? Need I remind you we got to fill…” He counted the barges behind them. “… Four of those? That’s fifteen hundred tons!” The sulphur-crested cockatoo cried out in a squawk.

“And? Roberto never said we had to fill them all. The materials list for the Rhine takes priority, everything we take after that is just a neat bonus.” The Engineer told his subordinate.

“Won’t make it any faster…”

“Why? You need to go back to Danny now?” Angelo teased. The Filipino tried to hide it, and his white feathers would have hidden it had it not been for the slight rise of his crest and feathery ears. “Gotta put the ‘cock’ part in cockatoo to work uh?” The minotaur joked.

“Terrible pun, and that’s not it at all.” He protested. Okay, maybe it was partly true. “Just enjoying the new gaming rig is all. The Witcher 3 was released barely a week before the Event struck and I just started playing it. Man, that thing…” He shook his head. “You gotta try it, blows my mind I tell you!”

“Eh, I’ll give it a try maybe. I was mostly busy setting up a server with bots for BF4 yesterday. I even got to name one Amandine.” He shrugged. “That and I got a backlog of books to catch up on…”

The two geeks’ conversation was brought to a halt by them approaching the quays. With the tug and barges being much smaller than actual seagoing ships, they could afford to come pretty close to the quays and hop off directly to tie the mooring lines. The process didn’t take long, but attaching the entire convoy of four barges made for a mess of ropes going from one mooring bitt to another.

As long as it held, the minotaur didn’t care too much. He was an Engineer, not a deck guy. Up on the bridge of the tugboat, the barge’s pilot reported they had moored successfully over the radio before shutting down the craft’s engine. The vibrations going through the small hull ceased at once, and the pilot leapt down to the main deck.

The pilot in question was definitely something worth noting, in particular to Angelo because she was none other than Nikolaos, the minotaur cow that had been injured the day of the Rhine’s return to existence. She still was very much injured, with several bandages wrapped around her, but the wounds were clearly not enough to stop her. She had managed to adjust a set of coveralls to her tall, muscular frame since then, but had only achieved a form of chest wrappings to hold her breasts.

Which Angelo definitely didn’t ogle, no sir, not at all.

She also didn’t appear to have had the time to modify one of the combat vests they had brought back from the expedition in Slagelse. Instead, she was wearing a cobbled together net made of web strapping to which she had attached just enough pouches to put ammunition for her own machinegun (a MG3 as they were called, some modernized version of the famed Nazi MG42) and some other tools as well as her walkie-talkie.

“Everything in order?” She asked one of the other sailors that accompanied them, making a show of ignoring Angelo.

Two more sailors from the Rhine made up the team: Mikhail and Yancy, respectively a purple dragon that looked like a bipedal version of Spyro the dragon and a blue and gold macaw. The former was there as their main combat specialist, being a veteran from the Ukrainian army, and the latter was there to assist Nikolaos with steering the tug. Both were armed with Canadian M4 and M16 guns they had retrieved for the Rhine, each weapon sporting rails to fit accessories and optics that Amandine’s collection of FNC’s lacked. Hell, Mikhail even boasted a grenade launcher on his M16 (or C7 as someone would later tell Angelo).

“Tight against the quay, ‘would take a hurricane to rip off those lines.” Mikhail told the minotaur cow. “We good to move on to the ‘yard?”

“Yeah.” She said, rolling her shoulders before motioning towards the warehouse with her snout. “Mind coming with me to see if we can find some forklifts or something? Those cranes don’t cover the whole yard. Yancy, think you can watch the ship while we’re busy? Keep an eye on the radio too.”

The moment said parrot gave her his OK; she leaped over the tug’s railing and started marching towards the warehouse without even acknowledging the sailors from Amandine. Mikhail followed closely behind her, the purple dragon offering Angelo an apologetic look before jumping over the railing after his superior.

“Is it me, or is she pissed at me for some reason?” Angelo asked.

“I wouldn’t say pissed at you in particular… just pissed that you got to keep your dick while she’s stuck as an Amazon of a cow.” Yancy told him offhandedly. “That and the Captain’s new thing about entire fleet.”

“Danny doesn’t seem to care…” Carlos muttered.

“Irrelevant at the moment, but cute.” Angelo smiled, giving his friend a small (by minotaur standards) tap on the back that pushed the much shorter parrot half a meter forward. “Maybe I’ll confront her about it, maybe. Come on now, we got some work to do.”

As it turned out, a couple river barges had been in the process of being refitted in the basin before the Event. The narrow crafts were propped up on struts amidst various piles of plates and parts, their mechanical guts splayed out beneath them. The boats were surrounded by open sided tents that protected pallets of components from the weather, the pallets serving both to transport and to protect them from rusting away in the numerous puddles of seawater that dotted the basin every time the concrete floor dipped.

None of them encountered a monster that day despite the tanker teams announcing over the radio that they had found a demonic circle close to a recycling plant. Where the monster had gone off to, they didn’t know, but it didn’t turn up while they were busy.

The process of loading the barges at the repair yard was a tedious one. They had to pick which parts were usable for the planned modifications, move the pallets closer to the quays, start up a crane to transfer them on the barges and then secure every single one of them inside the holds. Many of the plates and I-beams they found lying around lacked a paint coating to protect them from corrosion which lead to them being discarded: shallow rust could be fixed with some grinding, but deep pitting forced them to abandon the parts. Having to check whether or not a plate was corroded too much made them lose a lot of time, though Angelo’s ability to lift entire pallets of steel with little effort may have gained as much time as they had lost.

The other minotaur on the repair yard couldn’t afford such physical effort yet, she was still recovering from her injuries. Nikolaos could see Angelo lifting pallets from her position on a walkway in the warehouse, the sight of the bull making a sour look appear on the cow’s muzzle. She knew she wasn’t treating the other Greek fairly, the guy was in no way responsible for her own fate… but it just wasn’t fair. How could he get stuck with a transformation that just made him ridiculously muscular while she got stuck with massive udders on her chest? Granted she wasn’t that bad herself in the muscle department, and she was even taller than the bull, but still!

Her mood wasn’t helped by her new body’s reaction to the sight of Angelo either. She wasn’t exactly surprised to have wound up with an adjusted sexuality after the change, such was the case for most of the genderswapped sailors in the fleet, but the lack of surprise didn’t make it any more pleasant. With a very bovine snort, she turned away and hopped down to the area where they had found spools of electrical wire.

“Still pissed off?” Mikhail asked her casually.

The dragon had just entered the warehouse with a forklift he had fixed. The little loader’s engine had sputtered a bit at the start so he had used the batteries of the tug to jumpstart it. Except for a nasty black cloud from the exhaust, which didn’t even faze the purple dragon, the thing was running mostly fine.

“And why wouldn’t I be?” She growled, piling a couple spools of wire on an empty pallet. “Try to imagine the transformation making you gay, doesn’t sound that funny now uh?”

“I’d argue about the gay part.” The dragon shrugged. “By all definitions, you really aren’t. And even then I don’t think the biggest conservative on any of the crews would be dumb enough to dislike the genderswapped folks for it. You’re your own worst critic as they say; I doubt you would find anybody that gives a shit ‘bout it ‘cept for you.”

The barge pilot glared down at the shorter dragon.

“Don’t give me that look.” The Ukrainian told her. “I don’t… approve of homosexuality myself.” He admitted with a sheepish shrug. “But if you think for one second that I’d give a hoot about what you --or any other genderswapped crewmembers for that matter- do with your new situation, think again. You have my sympathy, but don’t expect me to care more than that unless someone tries to shove a dick up my arse.”

Nikolaos quirked an eyebrow at that.

“… A dick up your arse?”

“I ain’t ever going to Sweden again, that’s all ya’ should know.” The dragon said, pointing a bronze colored claw at her, trails of smoke escaping his nostrils. “As for Angelo, whether you hate him or not, you gotta at least try to cooperate. Christ, you haven’t even talked to him as far as I know!”

“Fine, I’ll give the guy a chance.” She said, rolling her shoulders. “Now if you could move that forklift over to that end of the warehouse I think I spotted a couple rubber sheets for the seals.”

“Tak.” Mikhail concluded before hopping back on the forklift.

They still had plenty of components to retrieve, and the longer they took, the longer the works on the Rhine would be delayed.

Further North near the ships’ berthing place, two of Amandine’s trucks were seen leaving the container terminal and heading for a large white warehouse not a kilometer away from the vessels. Both were red Volvo eight-wheelers equipped with a hooklift and a little crane that allowed them to pick up any kind of cargo they may find, though they lacked the capacity of the more common lorries Amandine also had in her holds. This was no big deal to the team of five spread out across the two trucks considering they were so close to the terminal that they could easily make multiple runs fairly quickly.

Vadim, Boris and Nguyen were in the lead truck that passed the exit checkpoint of the terminal. The team that was on guard duty had received one of their new .50 cal machineguns just in case. The heavy weapon –now installed on a tripod close to the guards- would ensure nothing short of a tank of a monster would make it past them. Overkill? Probably, but then again there were no morals to speak of when it came to bloodthirsty otherworldly creatures.

The truck following them was occupied by none other than Camille and Anton, the female griffon Angelo and Aleksei had met during the Rhine’s rescue. Camille still had a broken arm, but considering the possible contents of the UNICEF warehouse, they would need as many medically trained personnel as possible.

Less than a minute later, the group was already on site and dismounting their trucks. The supply depot sure was an imposing sight from up close. It rose high up in the sky with the blue letters and logo of UNICEF displayed proudly on its façade. There were some office buildings and loading docks for trucks adjoining the main storage building, as well as a very modern looking lobby whose appearance was only marred by the weeks of seaborne salt that had accumulated on its windows in the absence of maintenance personnel to wash it off. There was also a container bay behind the building that held stacks of blue and white containers, some with UN logos on them, others with a Red Cross or Crescent.

Vadim had them stop the trucks on the parking lot near the lobby. First he wanted them to explore the building and figure out what they would pick… though he figured they would take a lot of the warehouse’s supplies before the day was over. Talks of humanitarian assistance to survivors were going down the chain of command and he was pretty sure most if not all of what they would need for that particular task would be found in that very building.

By his side, he heard Camille whistle as she took in the full size of the building. The orange hippogriff was forced to hop around on three limbs because of her plastered arm. The Doctor couldn’t carry a rifle because of her injury and she had admitted to being repulsed at the idea of carrying a gun, but Captain Gerig had at least convinced her to take a pistol for self-defense.

As if they went around shooting survivors in the first place…

“Impressed?” Vadim asked her.

“Oui, I did humanitarian work in East Africa five years ago. Seeing where this comes from…” The French hippogriff shrugged with her wings. “It’s just so damn big.” She told him with a hint of awe.

Vadim turned an eye towards the trucks. He felt like they needed to keep an eye on them but then again… they were still in sight of the checkpoint so he just radioed the guards to ask them to keep an eye on their vehicles while they were inside.

“Guys… just remember that monsters can spawn inside buildings too.” Nguyen warned them, the brown furred cat having direct (and painful) experience of such a case.

“Duly noted cook, we’ll remember to be careful.” Vadim acknowledged his worries.

“Just remember to mind your stun grenades.” Boris joked as he passed the bipedal cat and entered the building, much to Nguyen’s annoyance.

“They tasered me mid-throw!” He cried out in protest.

“Or so you say.” The Russian chuckled before Vadim sent him a warning glance.

He knew his medical assistant liked to get under people’s skin, but there was a time and place for everything. Much as he hated stopping banter like that, an expedition in unsecured territory was not the moment to start antagonizing the cook of all people.

And he was doing the griffon a service too: Nguyen may not be particularly vindictive, but once Rahul got word of somebody laying it into his kitchen colleague… He knew the Chief Cook wasn’t above ‘spiking up’ certain sailors’ plates. That much the Russian should already know.

Never get on the cook’s bad side.

Unsurprisingly considering the number of still functioning wind turbines; the building still had power running through it. They had no problem retrieving a set of keys from a security office in the lobby that allowed them to traverse the hallways unimpeded. The team of five walked past the office sections of the building before emerging into the actual warehouse part. The ground dropped down one floor, leaving them on a balcony that looked down on extensive sorting equipment made out of conveyor belts and robotic cranes that connected to the loading bays. Beeping lights here and there coming from the equipment along with the constant whirr of ventilation above them told them work was ready to resume at a moment’s notice.

“Never seen a warehouse like that from inside… can’t say I expected it to be this…” Vadim hesitated.

“High tech?” Anton suggested.

“High tech.” He nodded.

Deeper inside, they could also spot towering shelving units loaded with pallets and cardboard boxes, each bearing the logo of one or another known humanitarian group. Boris had the bright idea of booting up a computer next to one of the conveyor belts, which showed them the inventory list as well as the location of every single item in storage. Camille quickly commandeered the computer and started scrolling through the menus after pulling a desk chair close to the computer.

“Any idea what we need to pick?” Vadim asked her.

The hippogriff swiveled around in her chair to face him, the motion making her crest feathers bob up and down despite the scrunchie that held them behind her head.

“Absolument.” She said, a smile starting to creep up on her beak. “Gather up people, it’s planning time!”

Thanks to the still functional status of the equipment inside, the Doctor was able to give each of the four sailors that accompanied her datapads linked to the warehouse’s systems. From her position behind the computer, she could direct them to a specific spot where they could pick up any item she selected on the computer, either with a forklift or on their own. The items could then be transported to the loading bays and loaded on pallets (if they weren’t already on one) where they would later load them on their trucks.

Considering the sheer volume of supplies the hippogriff had them pick up, the task was disturbingly easy to achieve. Camille made them take nearly every type of supply available: medicine, sanitation equipment, shelter tents, even crates of vaccines which they extracted from a refrigerated section of the warehouse. If the item could be of some use for humanitarian aid, she would take it. They also loaded more advanced equipment such as disassembled solar panels and small wind turbines, or even lab equipment for the lab Camille wanted to have installed on the Rhine. Over the course of many hours and even more trips with the trucks, they loaded the supplies inside Amandine’s cargo holds where some sailors made sure they were secured tightly against the decks. The sheer volume they took was considerable at first glance, but it was a testimony to Amandine’s sheer cargo capacity that the amount they loaded barely put a dent in her available cargo space. By their estimations in how she sunk down in the water during the loading, they came just above a thousand tons worth of supplies, less than a tenth of the cargo vessel’s deadweight.

Sooner rather than later, the team moved on to the containers stacked behind the building to figure out whether or not they could be useful.

And they couldn’t have made a better find that day.

The containers they found weren’t actually meant to carry cargo. That was what the loading bays in the warehouse were for. These containers were modular units. In other words: a container with its insides modified to become a room. Which was exactly what they had planned to install on the Rhine once the modifications were done. The container bay held all sorts of containers for various roles, all of them ready to be shipped anywhere in the world in case of disaster.

Guess now it was up to them to get to said disaster site. Not that they knew where the survivors were at the time, but Camille was pretty sure the responsibility should fall on them now that all of the regular humanitarian groups were gone.

The variants they found ranged anywhere from simple housing units they might be able to use as extra cabins to more advanced labs, clinics, communication centers, mobile generators and even some laundry containers and water purifiers. All of these wrapped up in the standard-sized package of twenty and forty-foot containers. They transported all that gear to the quays next to the ships where they would later sorts out which of them they would use as mobile camps mounted on trucks (meaning they would go on Amandine) and which of them would make up the new compartments for the Rhine Forest. There was plenty of time to figure out what to make of them, considering they hadn’t even started the modifications yet.

As they were loading the last container on their truck, Vadim spied Boris looking at a certain female griffon on their team out of the corner of his eye. Now, he would himself admit she wasn’t unpleasant to look at, her lithe snow leopard half being in no small part responsible for that. After he secured the truck’s hook to the container he nudged the other griffon in the ribs.

“Enjoying the sights now?” He whispered in Russian.

The goshawk griffon’s feathers fluffed up at the remark.

“So what if I do?” He replied defensively, only half turning to face his superior.

“Nothing really.” Vadim let out an amused trill. “At least I know you’re healthy. There is just this one little thing…” The Ukrainian cocked his head in fake hesitation. “… Something about you taking the piss on Ukrainians. Would have never figured out you could have eyes for one now, katsap.”

“Can’t you stick to Micha and shut it you jackass?” Boris glared at him. Vadim ignored the jab and shook his head ruefully.

“You could at least give her a few days to get accustomed to the change; they reappeared less than a week ago unless you forgot.”

“Officer,” Boris ground out. “If you could kindly mind your own business that’d be great. What do you know about Ukraine anyway? You spent nearly your whole goddamn life in Poland!”

“That’s not the point; but fine, do as you please if you wish to. Can’t say I didn’t warn you.” Vadim walked off and went to the truck’s hydraulic controls. “Just one last thing… you may want to watch your tail you amorous catbird, change or not body language is still a thing, and yours is a big tell.”

Boris growled at him before angrily stomping towards the truck’s cabin, Nguyen giving him a confused look, not having been able to follow the conversation.

Dilip watched the first group of tugs bring back a batch of fully loaded barges. A sailor climbed inside the cabin at the top of the Rhine’s gantry crane and rolled it aft of the vessel where it started picking up the yellow painted lighters and stacking them in their proper bays where another sailor would hook the tanker barges to the ship’s manifold and power grid. The system wasn’t that necessary when used for less viscous liquids, but they had taken in a fair amount of heavy fuel oil for Amandine’s main engine, and the substance needed to be kept warm at all times unless they wanted it to clog up the tanks.

“First barges back?” Raimund asked him.

Dilip just nodded, not turning away from the window. They were both inside of the German Captain’s office while they waited for the HPI’s next call. He had made sure to switch to a clean shirt and even groomed his fur before coming, along with bringing all of his research files and the first reports on the humanitarian supplies they were still busy loading on board. He could see the stacked containers on the quay next to the barge carrier, with Alejandro and another Officer from the Rhine he couldn’t recognize busy discussing which ship would take which container.

“Is the computer ready for the call?” Dilip asked nonchalantly.

“Jawohl, all files are ready, the antenna is broadcasting just fine. We just have to wait for the agent to contact us. You think this will work?”

“Chances are it will if it’s the same agent I already talked with.” The dog said as he stroked the underside of his muzzle pensively. “He might react… oddly to your predicament though. I don’t recall telling him about the age regression effect of the change on certain individuals.”

“Haven’t you rejuvenated a couple years yourself?” The unicorn tilted her head, one ear twitching.

“Yes, but my ship hasn’t suffered from any case as bad as yours. Probably because it’s a smaller population sample…” He mused. “How many cases are there on the Rhine already?”

“Two; me and one of my bosuns.” Raimund frowned. “How old are you supposed to be in the first place?”

“Fifty-four, I think I gained about twenty years of life. You?”

“I was sixty-one before…” She waved a pink forehoof at her whole body. “That.”

Before they could go deeper into the topic of being young once more, the Deck Officer that was on watch on the bridge called them saying he had just received a call for them. Raimund ordered him to patch it through, and soon they were staring at the face of one certain Indonesian HPI agent. Eko was much like Dilip remembered him: dark skinned (by Indonesian standards) with grey hair and a pair of rectangular glasses on his nose. He had the beginning of wrinkles here and there, which was further enhanced by him appearing to be quite tired. On his shoulders was en executive suit with subtle hints that denoted his position within the HPI’s hierarchy. If Dilip’s memory was correct, he appeared to have progressed through the ranks since the last time he had seen him.

The agent appeared to be sitting inside of a dimly lit office, the camera conveniently oriented so as not to let them see anything they weren’t supposed to.

“Good evening Eko.” Dilip nodded curtly before motioning towards Raimund with his paw. “This is Captain Gerig of M/V Rhine Forest.”

The HPI agent stared dubiously at the young mare across the screen, but tactfully chose not to comment on the appearance of what his intel told him was supposed to be an elderly German.

“My greetings to you both.” Eko said politely. “I believe Captain Prateek has already conveyed to you most of the relevant information about my organization?” He asked Raimund.

“He has.” She nodded.

“Then you will not be surprised to hear I wish to extend the same contract we have with Amandine to your vessel. The terms are the exact same as those of the first contract and I will send it once this conversation is over. Does that suit you?”

“Ja, it does.” The pink unicorn had a hard look in her eyes when she looked at Eko, clearly having doubts about his intentions.

“Excellent. I suppose you will be glad to hear my superiors have deemed it worthwhile to invest resources in third-party… retrieval teams, so to speak. From now on I am to be considered the liaison agent with any and all non-HPI groups with which we have ongoing contracts.” There was a hint of pride seeping in towards the end of the last sentence, Dilip noted.

“Should we thus believe the HPI has long-term wishes of cooperation with us?” Dilip asked.

“As long as I occupy the position, consider it within my direct interest to maintain such activities and justify them to the upper echelons, yes.” Eko told him.

“If I may…” Raimund inserted herself in the conversation. “While I am certainly very glad to have a contract which allows us a source of parts for our ships, I do need to remind my colleague…” She glanced towards Dilip. “… That we also have certain ideas we wish to bring forward.”

Dilip caught on quickly what she was referring to and made of show of pulling out his latest research files for the agent to see.

“These files contain all of my recent research and the data my crew had gathered on the Event up to now. I have included data on the new species people changed into, observations on the wave that preceded the cataclysm, reports on demonic circles and monsters.” He tapped the pile of papers with the palm of his paw. “And there is more on the way. The Rhine’s resident Doctor and my own Medical Officer are working on more advanced research which should be available as soon as we can get a lab running.”

“And you wish to trade this data to us.” Eko guessed. After receiving a nod from both Captains he continued. “This… I can say it is certainly valuable, though I would have to submit it to the R&D department for appraisal.” He idly drummed his fingers against his desk. “Yes, I think they would be interested and might even ask you to run experiments they can’t do themselves. Do you wish to trade all this for extra credits?”

“Actually we’re in need of intel ourselves.” Gerig said.

Eko raised an eyebrow but otherwise remained silent.

“You see, we’ve come into possession of a great many humanitarian supplies and manuals from UN-related agencies in Copenhagen. It is our wish to seek out survivor groups and offer assistance.” Gerig explained. “But for that we need their location, and I am positively certain your organization does know the location of certain survivors.”

“I can’t picture either of you two as a bleeding-heart humanitarian. I’d wager there is an intent behind this, isn’t it?” Eko asked calmly.

“Aye, we think assisting them in setting up like that will allow us to restart certain industries and food production. Trade routes, oil refineries, anything that’s necessary to save civilization from fading away.”

Yet another idea Eko felt like he could use bring to his superiors to possibly scale the hierarchical ladder. He closed his eyes in thought, trying to figure out a way to work out the deal for a second. Once he felt like he had a viable plan he opened his eyes and addressed the Captains a polite smile.

“A worthwhile endeavor then.” He said, clasping his hands together. “We do have hints of survivor presence in certain areas of the globe, and we can send you this data at the same time as the Rhine’s contract. As for your research data, do you think you can send it this evening? I will need to ask around to the head researchers tonight to see if they have any uh… specifications. Is this feasible? Naturally the data you will be sent will be dependent on the quality of your own research data.”

“This should do.” Dilip agreed.

What came afterwards might as well have been equated to mere courtesies once the bulk of the deal was done. Eko asked them how they were faring and what they had already retrieved to trade to the HPI later, which evolved into some idle talk about European art and certain pieces they knew of and wished they could go out of their way to save. Dilip did try to ask him if he had any idea where they would have to deliver the goods once the HPI had improved their shield tech, but there was nothing Eko could tell him about it yet except that it would be on the East Coast of the United States. Research was progressing, but they still weren’t able to miniaturize the tech sufficiently. Soon enough, the Indonesian agent excused himself before signing off, the computer’s screen turning dark.

“Decent guy for a spook.” Raimund admitted.

“Only to us, he was rather dismissive of my subordinates when they had to take guidance from him; and even we have to read between the lines. You saw his reaction to our plan right?” Dilip told him as he stood up and cracked his broad neck.

“He’s got ideas of his own. What they are, I’d very much like to know.”

“So do I, so do I…” Dilip sighed.

Warning: explicit sexual content is present in the next scene

Micha and Vadim had continued training their flight abilities every chance they could. Boris had come along one evening to glide with them but he hadn’t joined them since then.

Vadim was secretly glad he didn’t, he very much enjoyed being able to relax with Micha without the Russian overhearing what they were talking about.

Progress was still slow for both griffons. They had gone back to their spot between the container stacks to keep hurling themselves off of them and into the pile of mattresses and cotton. The materials genuinely felt like a nest of sorts for the two avian chimeras, and if Vadim was entirely honest he may enjoy crashing down into it a bit too much. He definitely should be working on his landings more than simply plowing through the pile of soft materials much as he loathed admitting it.

By then, Micha’s fears of jumping had been completely forgotten and she kept jumping from the highest available stack with little to no worry. The Pole wasn’t actually so much scared of heights as she was restrained by her own justifiably strict safety culture. Vadim was aware of what had happened to her father in the past, he could understand how accidents like that would make someone cautious. In most cases on board, this was a good thing.

Not so much when it came to training a natural ability that conflicted with Micha’s still very human-oriented perceptions of what was safe and what wasn’t. Nevertheless, the bald-eagle female griffon had gotten around that issue and was now enjoying the gliding experience as much as he was. From his position on top of a container stack, Vadim observed her lithe form descend down to the ground, her wing positioning starting to become more natural and controlled which allowed her to vastly extend her flight time compared to her first day of training.

Yeah he definitely was staring at her rump on the way down. So what?

Vadim himself was perched on top of another stack a bit further away from the ‘landing pad’. He had chosen this stack in particular because the path forced him to take a turn and he was pretty sure he had gotten the turning technique down. Clenching his claws around the edge of the container he checked the path ahead of him. The multicolored containers formed a narrow corridor in front of him which veered ninety degrees to the side before leading to the landing pad.

One push of his hind legs later, the griffon was airborne. The sensation felt exhilarating, making him feel… whole. He could feel the push of the air against his wings, the wind in front of him that ruffled his coveralls and feathers, the ever so subtle motions of his tail behind him which he had discovered helped him manage his trim. Vadim let out a happy squawk as he built up speed on the way down. Never in his life had he done something so exciting. He beat his wings a couple times to try and maintain his altitude, but his wings weren’t trained enough to keep him aloft yet. His technique wasn’t perfect, and he still didn’t quite know how to position his legs during flight, but he was starting to figure it out.

Three containers after his leap, the griffon angled his body and wings to the side, the motion making him take a soft turn and lining up with the landing pad in which he could see the lounging form of his friend.

Sharp raptor eyes spotted the bottle of vodka in Micha’s claws, the other griffon lazily taking sips from the bottle and not looking in his direction. A mischievous smirk appearing on his beak, he opened one gloved claw and twisted his wings ever so slightly.

Micha didn’t know what hit her. One instant she was resting her arguably tired wings and enjoying a bottle of liquid joy; and the next an orange clothed blur shot past her ripping the bottle from her talons and crashing down in the pile of cotton, bits of white material flying in all direction.

“You’re an ass.” She growled, leveling a mildly annoyed glare at the other griffon.

“’Felt like celebrating my most recent success at turning.” Vadim shrugged with his wings before wincing. They had been at it for a while now; he was starting to feel the strain in his wing muscles now. The sun had even settled by then.

Taking a long gulp of liquor from the bottle, Vadim idly noted they had already gone through two thirds of that bottle. Of course there were another two empty ones lying… somewhere below all the cotton.

“You still up for a few jumps?” He asked her. Not that he felt like he was himself, he just wasn’t willing to be the first to quit.

Not after she pounded him in the ground in their last round of wrestling. Human females may not be as strong as males; but griffons were equally matched. That much he had learned quickly, the two of them currently being tied regarding who could pin the other down the most.

Micha stood up, extended her wings and flexed them a few times with a wince on her beak. Vadim could smell her scent across the short distance that separated them, the female griffon having sweated quite a bit from all this exercising. Not that he was much better… although her scent was actually quite pleasant to his nostrils. Beyond layers of seawater, grease and gunpowder he could smell hints of pine and forestry, the scent of which instantly soothed his nerves.

“Nah I’m good for tonight.” She told him. “Pass the bottle, I don’t like to leave then unfinished.”

Unbeknownst to Vadim, Micha had noticed her friend’s scent as well. And if Vadim’s shared hints of seawater and grease like her own, it was also laced with the smell of medicine from his work in the infirmary along with a deeply smoky scent. She was just as affected by his smell as he was by hers, the effect not being helped by the alcohol they both had in their bloodstream.

Both of them extricated themselves from the pile of mattresses and cotton, Vadim fluffing up his wings and setting a few primaries back in place using his beak once he was out.

“You use your beak?” Micha asked incredulously.

“Well, duh…” Vadim deadpanned. “That’s how you’re supposed to do it. Don’t tell me you were using a hairbrush or your claws now?”

“But that’s…”

“Perfectly natural! No wonder your feathers are fussed up like that, your beak is made to take care of them, and you’ve got preening glands at the base of your wings to wax your feathers.” Vadim explained. “It’s… important you know, for insulation, for hygiene, for flying. You won’t ever get a good airflow with messy feathers.”

“How do you even know that?” She cocked her head in wonder, the motion jostling her a bit too much because of the alcohol.

“Got an ornithology book from Schmitt.” He slurred, the alcohol was starting to get to him as well. “I experimented.”

“Could you maybe… show me?” Why the request brought a blush under her feathers she didn’t know.

Vadim happily accepted the request. The two of them silently made their way to Vadim’s cabin; Micha accidently bumping into the other griffon’s side a couple times on the way.

Maybe she had slightly overdone it with the vodka.

Vadim took off his shoes and gloves when he entered the room before hopping on his bed and sitting down on his haunches. He eagerly motioned for Micha to come sit next to him, which the pole did after getting rid of her own shoes and gloves.

“So how do you do it?” She asked.

“First off, open up your wing. I need to show you your preen glands.” He began.

The bald eagle griffon opened one of her large brown feathered wings for the Ukrainian to see. The primaries were indeed messed up somewhat, which would explain the slight difficulties she had been experiencing during flight training. They also had lost the sheen she had started off with the day of her transformation, something which made the more instinct driven parts of her mind reel in outrage.

Sensitive as wings were, Vadim was particularly careful not to be too rough in his handling. His claws gently ran over the edge of Micha’s wing which sent shivers running down her spine and towards her loins. Unconsciously, her tail flicked to the side and intertwined with Vadim’s. His talons crept closer to the base of the wing, one of them give a gentle tickle on a little nub at the base of her wing. The simple motion made her let out a slightly aroused gasp, which Vadim didn’t seem to notice or acknowledge.

“That’s your gland.” He told her softly as he stroked the back of her wing with one claw. “You… sort of nip it with the tip of your beak and then coat it with some wax. Then you run your feathers through your beak, easy.”

Micha turned her head and found herself staring in Vadim’s yellow-green eyes, both of them entranced for a second before he snapped away with a polite cough.

“Can you show me how?” She caught herself blurting out before she could stop the words coming out of her beak. Behind her, her tail squeezed around Vadim’s, the other griffon obviously catching the gesture.

“Yeah!” He cried out. “I mean… of course I can.”

Vadim undid the zipper on his coveralls up to his midsection, motioning for his friend to do the same. He needed to keep his feathers uncovered and had discovered that fresh wax tended to stain the fabric of the coveralls. The front half of the suit was pulled back, the sleeves tying it just behind the base of his wings and exposing his coat of fluffy light grey feathers for Micha to see.

Before he had time to open his beak he was pinned on his back by Micha, the female fixating him with a hard stare… though he was pretty sure he could spot a lustful glint in her yellow eyes.

“And what say we stop beating around the bush?” She whispered in his ear, leaning down. Behind her, her tail was quickly swishing from side to side and her paws were kneading the blanket. Vadim caught a whiff of her scent, his mind starting to fog up.

“Are you sure? I mean you were…” But she cut him off by clasping her talons around his beak.

“I am sure. I want you Zinoviya.” She purred, keeping her head close to Vadim’s.

The Ukrainian’s response was to rub the inside of her thighs with his tail, the gesture making the female melt down in his arms with a soft coo. By then he was pretty much going in blind following his instincts. Griffons were not suited for kissing, but they did make use of their beaks for foreplay, each of them running their beak through their partner’s feathers while they used their claws to caress each other’s wings. Their tails were intertwined together once more, one or the other moving to brush against the sensitive underside of the other.

Both of them could feel the heat starting to build up, electric feelings rushing through their nerves and buzzing around their bodies at each stroke of their partner. At one point they switched positions and shrugged off their coveralls, Vadim winding up on top with the both of them wrapped in a tight hug. Neither of them had ever experienced anything quite like it, not even with their former partners before the Event.

Micha rubbed her beak through the darker feathers on the back of Vadim’s neck one last time before the Ukrainian pushed on his arms, lifting himself up slightly and breaking the hug. His mind completely fogged up and running on automatic at this point, he gazed down lovingly at his partner. The white feathers on her head were all fluffed up and she was panting now. Her scent was all over the male griffon’s nostrils, wiping away everything around him but her, the situation being just as true for the female below him. She could feel the radiating heat of Vadim’s member pressing down against her nether regions. She nibbled at his neck with her beak and stroked the base of his wings which stood up straight at her touch.

Not able to wait any longer, the female bucked against Vadim which made the male griffon fall on his side. She pinned him to the bed with her talons and straddled him, hind legs tensed up and her rump bent so that her cloaca hovered just above her partner’s now very hard member. Vadim saw her hesitate a moment, both of them way too out of it to even think about contraception at the moment.

The fur between her thighs was now dripping wet from arousal, heat radiating from the region and instincts screaming at her to take the plunge. And she did. Slowly, the recently-made female lowered herself closer to her partner’s member, Vadim letting her take it at her own pace. The feeling of his warm, erect dick parting her lips felt… alien to her mind but she relished the feeling. Having a foreign object enter her most private area and rub oh so pleasantly against her insides made her start purring in delight. She bent down on her arms to embrace Vadim tightly, the other griffon returning the gesture and wrapping his wings around her, encasing the both of them in a dim, cozy cage of light grey feathers.

Micha gasped as she finally felt her hindquarters meet Vadim’s. She could feel every pulse or vein of his dick inside of her cloaca, her walls wrapping tightly around him in the most intimate of embraces with her inner muscles twitching intermittently. Every little motion either of them made sent little electric shorts echoing through her nervous system. Vadim wiggled his hips slightly which made the shocks increase in intensity.

This was no human sex. This was something else entirely. Both for Micha and Vadim, the nerve endings in their nether regions would send stimulations coursing through their entire body from the tip of their tail to their beak at the slightest movement. This was a lot less rough than anything either of them had ever done as humans, and surprisingly gentle for a species like griffons.

Both of them clutched the other tightly in their claws as Micha rocked her hips slowly. Both of them were staring deep in the other’s eyes, now completely entranced by their instincts. Their motions were slow, deliberate. They needn’t hurry or be rough during the act, small motions being enough to bring them to new heights.

They kept going at it for what felt like hours, Micha making a back and forth motion with her gyrating hips and falling to the side after a while. Still connected and on their side, they kept the motion going while their claws explored each other’s body and their tails twisted and rubbed against the other’s. Under them, the blanket was damp from both their sweat and Micha’s female juices, neither of them minding the slightest. Close to each other as they were, they could feel the other’s warmth and heartbeat even through their thick plumage.

And then they felt it coming. The beat in all four of their hearts increased rapidly, the intensity of the pulses going through their nerves rising threefold at once and making them break eye contact. The sensations robbed them of their breath, both completely whiting out from the rush of overwhelming feelings. Vadim felt his member start twitching in a fashion he was actually familiar with, though unable to react to at the moment.

They both climaxed at once, Micha’s cloaca tightening suddenly around Vadim’s pulsating dick. Even if his body hadn’t overwhelmed his nervous system like that, the male griffon still wouldn’t have been able to free himself from his partner’s grip. Not that he wanted to in any shape or form at the moment. His member spurted its life giving seed inside of his partner before slowly starting to soften.

As the intensity of the moment decreased and both griffons could feel themselves drifting away from the exertion their bodies had inflicted upon them, Vadim mustered enough energy to bring a wing against the side of Micha’s head. Gently, he brushed the underside of her beak with his own.

“Kocham cię.” He told her with a smile before drifting away happily, soon followed by Micha, both still cradling each other.

Author's Note

So I'll call dibs on calling this one:

Relation-ship

I'll just show myself out...

Chapter 29: Busy Schedule

Vadim was actually feeling quite comfy at the moment. He was slowly starting to wake up after a good session of flight training with Micha the day before. If he was entirely honest he might have overdone it with the vodka as he was now feeling the aftereffects of the liquor, but nothing he wasn’t already used to.

Idly, the grey feathered griffon noted how warm he was feeling despite having fallen asleep above his blanket. He had seldom felt so good sleeping in this cabin.

And then he noticed the breathing that was ruffling his neck feathers. Without moving, he glanced down at the still sleeping form of Micha that had her head nestled in the curve of his neck just under his own beak. The bald eagle griffon was hugging his frame, just as he was cradling hers. She had one wing wrapping around his back, and one of his was keeping her hindquarters close to his in a tangled mess of limbs and fur. Even their tails were intertwined, keeping them in as close a contact as was possible.

He could feel the beating of her hearts, her intoxicating scent infiltrating his nostrils; his instincts relishing the proximity he had with his mate and ordering him not to break the contact. Still not entirely awake and with his mind sluggish from the hangover, he didn’t go against the call of his instincts.

Wait…

Mate?

His jumbled memory finally assembled the last pieces in spite of the hangover. He had actually had sex with his best friend (and technically superior, but he didn’t know which was worse). His breath caught in his throat for a second at the thought.

The seemingly innocuous reaction was enough to stir the other griffon, because he caught her heartbeats increasing. He wanted to break the hug, knowing Micha would have a very good and justified reason not to be particularly happy when she woke up… but it just felt so right.

The green highlighted feathers around her eyes parted to reveal her yellow raptor eyes. Still half-asleep, they groggily looked around for a couple seconds. Vadim caught a barely perceptible groan escaping her beak before her eyes met his, instantly opening fully.

He blinked.

She blinked.

Neither of them moved the least bit.

“Dzień dobry.” He greeted her in a whisper.

Vadim could see the gears in her head turning for a few seconds. She broke eye contact and noticed how close their bodies actually were, her head feathers subtly fluffing up in embarrassment at the sight.

“Did we?” She asked.

The question was pretty much rhetoric. Both of them could still feel the dampness of the blanket they were resting on around their joined hindquarters, and the two were equally as sore in that region in particular.

“We did.” Vadim told her softly. “How are you feeling?”

“Sore. You?”

Luckily she didn’t appear to be taking this too badly. Surprising considering her situation, but he wasn’t about to start complaining.

“Same. That felt… completely different than anything I ever did before… No regrets?” He asked her.

The female griffon actually snuggled closer to him at that, rubbing her neck against his before settling down.

“I know I should feel bad because of, you know…” She trailed off. “But I just can’t seem to find it in me to do that. It just felt…”

“Natural?”

“Tak.” She agreed. “Plus I remember I initiated it anyway. Can’t really blame you for responding eh…” She chuckled, one of her paws beginning to stroke Vadim’s. “Still, all of that… I… that was the most amazing thing I ever felt.” She breathed out.

“Like how you feel the whole body is involved?”

She nodded.

“But… what now?” Vadim asked her, genuinely not knowing where to go from here.

“What do you mean what now?”

“Do we leave it at that? Do we each go our own way? ‘cause I remember you technically being married, me having a girlfriend, and a certain desire of…”

“What if we… kept it going until those problems in particular can be addressed?” She cut him off. “It can’t hurt… right?” She knew she had told Aleksei she wanted to be male again, but nobody said they couldn’t keep each other company until the issue was resolved right?

At least that’s the reason she came up with in her mind. Both of them used to visit red light districts frequently, so this couldn’t be that different from that habit.

“Yeah… can’t hurt.” Vadim muttered, arms tightening around her frame. “I don’t want to turn around, what time does the clock say?”

“Half past seven. You got watch?”

“Only at ten o’clock, I made a deal with Boris. You know what the others will say about us?”

“Some probably won’t be too happy about their bet.” She snickered.

“I wonder how many had a claw or paw in it…” Vadim mused.

She nibbled him in the neck softly. The gesture felt natural.

“Don’t. That’s their business, not ours.” She chastised him.

“You still sure you don’t mind that turn of events? I mean… come to think of it that’s kinda fast.”

“It does feel odd, and I know a couple weeks earlier I wouldn’t ever have thought about doing that, but I can’t bring myself to regret it.” She reassured him.

“And neither do I. Now, you want to keep snuggling for a while or do we do some actual preening?”

Micha’s sole answer was just to snuggle closer.

The two of them stayed in bed a little while to nurse their hangover before Vadim excused himself to go take a shower. Parting was hard for the two of them, but eventually they had to get on with their lives. Micha flipped over in the bed to rest on her belly, idly thinking about how quickly the two of them had gotten accustomed to their new bodies. She idly looked around while Vadim was in the bathroom, noting the posters, books and CD’s that decorated the room. Vadim was pretty clearly into cars and military history, but she also spied a worn-out violin case poking out of his wardrobe. The Ukrainian had never told her he could actually play an instrument…

Before long, Vadim actually showed her how to take care of her wings and how to use her preen gland on her beak to wax her primaries. Her mate (why her mind was pushing her to use the word, she didn’t know) helped her remove some broken and bent feathers from hard to reach places like the back of her neck. By the time they were done, both of their plumages had taken on a clean sheen not seen since the day of their transformation. By nine o’clock, the pair of refreshed and happy griffons left Vadim’s cabin side by side, their shipmates easily noticing how much closer the new couple had gotten.

Crazy strong stuff those griffon instincts.

The ship’s grapevine was quick to react to that, a short debate about the two griffons occurring in the depths of the engine room before liquor and cigars reluctantly started changing hands (or whatever the equivalent was), some crewmembers smug, others much less. The oldest of the crewmembers like the veterans were a bit partial about it, but nobody was really sure how to take it considering the subtle ways their transformations had messed with their heads.

And in all that fuzz, neither Micha nor Vadim had noticed how they had forgotten to use protection during the act, the two of them still drifting on a cloud of happiness.

That day, the trading of intel with the HPI took place as scheduled. Eko didn’t send them any message that would have signaled them Dilip’s data wasn’t of value to them. Instead, the Indonesian forwarded them the Rhine’s own contract, a note on how the HPI’s R&D department was still figuring what to ask them to do for their sake…

And of course the intel they had about survivor colonies.

They immediately had someone print the documents and bring them to the gathered Captains inside Dilip’s office. The Chief Officers and Engineers were present as well to observe the reveal, and maybe tell the rest of the crews later.

With a bated breath, Dilip reached for the files. The agent had given them the data regarding the Americas, unsurprisingly. He opened the first page showing a map, and a list of locations.

“Havana, Cuba, estimated size: minimum 30. Last observation: 7th of June 2015.” He read out loud.

“Saguenay, Canada, estimated size: minimum 20. Last observation: 1st of June 2015.”

“Veracruz, Mexico, estimated size: minimum… 80?! Damn that’s a lot. Last observation: 10th of June 2015. There is a note too: ‘Potential petrochemical activity’. You know what that mean guys…” The dog smiled.

“We might have a solution for our fuel problem. Does that mean I stop my research on the oil reconditioning project?” Schmitt asked from the back of the room.

“Keep working on it unless it takes you away from the Rhine’s modifications for too long.” Dilip told the orange dragon. “The document does say ‘potential’ after all; we can’t hinge our survival on an uncertainty. There is one more location too:”

“Belém, Brazil, unconfirmed activity. It seems to be all they have on the Americas for the moment, and they added the satellite pictures to highlight the activity. Still… That’s more than a hundred potential survivors to rescue. I don’t think anybody has any protest about that?”

There were none.

“To me that sounds like a straightforward path from now on.” Raimund said. “We finish the modifications on my ship, by then the HPI should be ready to receive our delivery and have given us a port of call. We do it, and then we move on to these guys and actually make use of all that humanitarian gear we salvaged.”

“And once we’re through with these locations, we buy more intel on colonies and move on to rescue more.” Dilip nodded, arms crossed. “Chiefs, do any of you have any concern or protest to manifest towards this course of action? The order in which we will tackle the colonies will depend on where the HPI wants their prototypes delivered, but that shouldn’t change too much.”

Alejandro actually had a few remarks about how they might need to do some research on the areas and have someone (in other words: Sandra) keep an eye on the evolution of satellite pictures around the colonies. Nobody really had anything to say against that, so the Captains sent the Chiefs off to tell the rest of their crews the news and to begin the modifications on the Rhine now that they had the parts to do it.

Considering their manpower base was still restricted by the small number of trained welders and the need to keep the terminal secure, it was hard to assign many sailors to the works on the Rhine simultaneously. Most were still hard at work training with their new weapons and, in the case of Amandine’s crew, their firefighting equipment as well.

Over the course of the next three days, not a single expedition left the terminal. They didn’t have any free hands to allot to the retrieval of art pieces at the time. Amandine’s crew began running drills inside the kill house and soon enough, on board of their ship as well to give the entire crew a refresher on how they were supposed to react in case of emergency. Aleksei had completed several sets of adapted masks for their SCBA equipment, and they seemed to work just fine. She even made more than strictly necessary to equip the Rhine Forest and leave both ships with a surplus of gas masks.

Artyom increased the pace of the CQB training inside the kill house to make sure that everyone had a go at it. He even got tips from Alejandro on how to teach a handful of basic defensive moves that would allow them to fend off monsters at short ranges and keep enough distance so they could use their guns. Granted, it was not a complete martial arts course and the kill house stuff barely put them at reservist level, but combat skills were deemed secondary.

On the bright side, now he was sparring with Alejandro whenever he got the chance in the morning.

On the Rhine, the crewmembers were training as well. More and more of them were getting comfortable with their new bodies and had started modifying their gear to fit their new morphology. They began unloading the lighters that were stacked in the front rows where the modifications would take place, even hauling some of them out of the water to be dismantled for parts and materials. As soon as the lighters were out of the vessel, all five welders both ships had available began the work of creating the new bulkhead that would separate the containers from the barges. The process was lengthy and arduous because of how the Engineers had designed it, but the complexity was a necessity. Making it sturdier would mean they wouldn’t have to worry about breaches in the near future, and contingencies had to be built-in in case of accident.

Vadim found himself hard pressed for time when Camille fell down upon his schedule and claimed most of his free time either for her medical research or to give him more lessons on medicine. The Ukrainian would later lament about the mental exhaustion she caused him to Micha during their flight training in the evening, but not even once did he threaten to pull away from his medical duties.

Despite everyone being otherwise kept busy by the constant work going on around the terminal, Roberto kept looking for targets of interest they could send expeditions to. Most of them were art retrieval for the sake of the HPI, but he had managed to come up with a few tech companies they could get databanks from, as well as electronics for when they would have to start repairing their own tech. At some point the cat was visited by Bart, the sky blue unicorn telling the secretary about the need for some Swedish Ak-5 carbines to improve their own FNC’s with better optics and ergonomics.

That spurred Roberto to start devising a set of expeditions across the strait to Malmo, the two towns only being separated by a short tunnel next to Copenhagen’s airport. Knowing the level of engineering that went into Northern European infrastructure, there was little doubt the tunnel wouldn’t be usable. Eventually, he went to visit Dilip to present his idea of sending one team on a first trip to Malmo to get them some intel on the location of a base before actually sending out a salvaging convoy with lorries and trailers. The Captain approved of his plans, but the expedition had to be postponed until the crews were done with their training and they freed up some workforce to allot to it.

The same went for possible leads on where to find the boats Amadi wanted to add to the Rhine’s complement: the ideas were there, but they just couldn’t spare the crewmen to do it.

Much to the cat’s dismay, more time was ‘lost’ when Captain Gerig decided to immediately have most of his crew go through refresher courses on firefighting and emergencies as well, which chained itself into a lot of them going through CQB training and so on… In a way, the cat couldn’t blame the decision and training had to be done, but the barge carrier made up most of the workforce they had in the ‘fleet’. This meant that as long as the Rhine’s crew was training, the rest of the sailors were too busy with the modifications and terminal defense duties to carry on expeditions. It frustrated him to no end because it felt like they were stuck doing nothing at times, and even the novelty of having the hippogriffs make use of their aquatic transformation to maintain the underside of the vessels had worn off surprisingly quickly.

Still, it was a nifty trick that would make them last longer before having to repair a dry-dock though. That kind of advantage couldn’t be understated enough.

“So?”

“So what? You’ll have to be more accurate than that.” Micha told Aleksei.

Both the griffon and the hippogriff were once more working on programming issues from the confines of the engine control room. They had pretty much sorted out the issue with the new pumps and Micha was almost done inputting the data by then. Aleksei on the other claw… She might as well be bashing her beak against a wall when it came to figuring out how to convert the audio files from the bridge’s radio log. Neither of the two would actually qualify as remotely competent when it came to coding, it was just a secondary skill set in an industry that rarely called for it. Not helping their cause was the fact they had been taught to rely on online repertories to write their code, which made for a massive roadblock in the event of an apocalypse.

But this obviously wasn’t what the hippogriff was asking her about.

“I mean, we all heard it through the grapevine ‘bout you and Vadim. Hell, I know you two keep hanging out.” Aleksei said with a twinkle in her eyes. “Surprised no one really, I’m just curious about how it felt like.”

Micha quirked an eyebrow at her.

“Haven’t you tried it on your own already anyway?”

“Come on Micha! You know it’s not the same, and I don’t have someone as close to me as Vadim is to you to take the plunge, and neither am I as ‘daring’ as Danny.” Aleksei said, making air quotes with her talons.

“Fine.” Micha blushed, embarrassment visible even through her feathers. “It was… overwhelming… just incredible… and even Vadim told me it felt nothing like human sex. It was slow and smooth, nothing rough at all. I… I don’t think I would have pushed him to do it had I not been a little bit tipsy at the time.”

“What, even for those that stayed male it’s not the same? Shit…” She shook her head. “Didn’t expect that. You wore protection I hope?”

Micha didn’t answer and lowered her beak ever so slightly.

“Micha!”

“It’s fine I assure you.” The Polish griffon raised a claw to stop her. “The day after it happened I felt incredibly horny all the time and we did it again in my room -with a condom this time mind-. Next day uh… I kinda… menstruated.” She said the last word barely above whispering level before letting her head fall down on the console in front of her. “Felt like shit the whole day before Vadim dragged me to the infirmary.”

“Damn girl you’re getting busy.” Aleksei breathed out. “And the two of you, are you in a…”

“Relationship? I guess we are…” She muttered. “We just… agreed to forget about it if we ever find a solution to the female issue.”

At that Aleksei gave her a disbelieving look. Like hell they would, she had read enough similar stories (in fiction of course) as is, the hippogriff knew exactly where this was going and telling her friend would only be met with blatant denial. With a resigned sigh, she settled for drilling the bald eagle griffon on more juicy details about her experiences with the Third Officer.

Aleksei liked to consider herself genre-savvy, and in stories like that there always was a threshold not to be crossed. Poor Micha had catapulted herself way beyond that point and there was nothing she could do about it but watch.

On board of the Rhine Forest, a door slammed shut inside the accommodation. It was one of the rating-sized cabins, this one currently occupied by one of the half-dozen cadets the barge carrier had serving in her complement.

All in all these cabins were not too dissimilar to those of Amandine: a simple room with storage compartments for the sailor’s belongings, desk, bed, and a small door that led to a bathroom shared with the adjacent cabin. The biggest difference would have been that the walls were actually painted beige instead of white. That particular cabin hadn’t been decorated overly much by its occupant, since the cadets had only embarked recently on the vessel.

In that case, said occupant was a dark red unicorn mare with a spiky blue mane that was huddled in a blanket on the bed. She had been released from the infirmary recently under the promise that she would take care of herself and rest a lot. Not that she had any problem with it, the blood loss caused by her injury having made her particularly weak.

She also definitely wasn’t hiding from the rest of the cadets.

“You’re hiding from us.” Carla said in Dutch.

Okay, she might be.

The grey hippogriff was standing on all fours next to the door with a concerned look on her beak, ears held low.

“I’ve got issues to deal with!” Sebastien protested, tightening the blanket around herself with her telekinesis.

“Last I checked I had the exact same issues as you have yet I don’t hide in my cabin like a cornered rat.” He accused her.

He wasn’t exactly wrong, their issues were just reversed. While her girlfriend (now boyfriend technically) had switched gender, so did she. She couldn’t even really complain about the lack of hands on her part, what with her newfound ability to interact with objects using her mind. But the gender change… it was just so chocking to one day wake up like that. Could she really be blamed for making use of her injured situation to stay in her cabin all day long? She did leave the room… once a day to go eat from the pantry when fewer sailors were around before she reported to the infirmary to have her wounds inspected and receive her daily ration of painkillers.

“You’ve been avoiding us. I believe I have every right to be worried about you.” Carla stated slowly.

“You needn’t be really.” She huffed, one ear twitching in annoyance. “I’m doing just fine.”

“Like Hell you are.”

“Really, I am. I just need some time to figure it out on my own. That’s what I usually do with issues like that.” She declared before turning away to face the wall.

If sulking inside her cabin qualified as figuring things out that is. She was barely at a stage where she could look at herself straight in a mirror, and each trip to the bathroom was a harrowing experience to her.

Hoofsteps behind her told the mare the hippogriff still wasn’t leaving. She felt a depression in the mattress when Carla clambered on and sat down on his haunches an arm’s length behind her.

“What are you doing?” She hissed, not even turning to face him.

“You know, I somehow doubt that’s the kind of problem you can sort out by thinking for a while and going on a lonely stroll. Just my grain of salt.” He casually told her.

“Oh really?” She said sarcastically, one of her large ears lowering to the side of her head. “Then what exactly do you do?”

“What we do Seb’. It’s not just me but the rest of the crew too; we’ve got group meetings with all those that have swapped genders. You’re the only one that tries to stick it on her lonesome and look where that got you.”

The mare flinched at the ‘her’ Carla used in her sentence. Stupid rule decided by the Captain, convenient or not. She knew about the meetings, Doctor Delacroix had told her about it. She just didn’t feel like she needed it. It would just be… too embarrassing to face the rest of the crew as a little mare.

“If it’s the whole crew that does it then why did they send you?” She half-growled.

“Unless you forgot the part where we’ve been a couple for four years now, then nothing I guess.” Carla said, the hippogriff creeping closer to her.

Sebastien felt Carla’s breath against her neck. Where in the past she would have been taller than her girlfriend, the case was now reversed: with the two of them sitting on their haunches, the hippogriff was easily a head taller than her. Carla puller her in a hug from behind, his bigger frame easily wrapping around hers and his shin resting on the top of her head just above her horn.

“I know things are… different now Seb’.” He told her. “But we’ve been an item for so long, and now that most of what we knew is gone, we really should stick together don’t you think?”

The mare deflated in his hug, conflicting feelings bouncing around her head and pent-up grief, sorrow and frustration starting to threaten to spill over. Carla could feel her start to tremble in his arms. He extended his wings out to wrap around her in a cocoon of sorts.

Admittedly he was pretty confused with his behavior himself. He knew the situation tended to be pretty much the opposite in the past, but now his attachment to the dark red mare he was hugging had turned into something different. He was actually surprised, but not displeased to notice that his love for Sebastien had carried over after the transformation despite the two now being different species. Sure, being attracted to someone of her former sex felt strange, but it was Sebastien he was talking about. The same Seb’ he had known since he was eleven, the same one he had started dating at the age of sixteen. The difference now was that her mind pushed her to act protectively around the smaller mare, but she was convinced the two of them could still make it work.

“You…” Seb’ squeezed her eyes shut. “You mean you don’t mind the change?” Ah, there was the hint of hope in her voice Carla wanted to hear.

“I won’t lie, this is different and both of us will have to make some… concessions to make it work, but there is no one else I’d rather be with than you.” He whispered.

This appeared to be the last straw the mare in his arms needed. She finally turned around and wrapped her forehooves around the hippogriff’s chest before she started weeping. Carla gently rubbed her back as the tears stained his feathers and coveralls, not minding the slightest bit.

Because now he knew he wouldn’t be alone he thought with a small smile on his beak.

One day later, Bart made an interesting discovery. The unicorn had been kept busy most of the day near the kill house and shooting range, both to train sailors in combat and to receive some training himself. His coat reeked of smoke and sweat from the firefighting exercises he had gone through, but it felt satisfying to know he would be able to assist his new shipmates in case of fire.

He had also spent some time trying to figure out how to use guns with his telekinesis. Granted he could move them around easily, but aiming them was another matter entirely. If he just held them above him he wouldn’t be able to know where his shots would land, so he had to improvise. His hooves weren’t able to pull the trigger, but his telekinesis was. In this manner, the Corporal had started ‘cradling’ his rifle in his forehooves so that he would be able to look through whatever optics he fitted to it. Then, he had grabbed the entire gun in his telekinesis to float it around while he held it. It wasn’t exactly easy, but it allowed him to walk on two hooves as long as he held on to the gun.

On the plus side that method made recoil virtually nonexistent. If he didn’t have to carry the gun on his back when he wasn’t aiming it he would have no problem using a machinegun like their MAG’s or the Rhine’s MG3’s. Such a shame that his body strength had decreased that much when he changed into a unicorn.

Bart took off his sweater and coveralls before tossing them in the laundry basket next to his bed. Glancing inside, he idly noted he would have to run a laundry soon. To be honest he had been pretty lazy when it came to refitting a new wardrobe to his frame. He had the possibility of obtaining more clothes (and thus avoiding frequent trips to the laundry room), but he just felt more like hanging out in the armory rather than requesting sewing supplies from Farkas.

When he undressed, the unicorn stole a glance at the scar on his neck. Despite Vadim’s efforts at making the wound look good, he could still see a ripple of pinkish scar tissue peek out of his sky blue coat of fur. The stitches and bandages had now been removed, and it didn’t ache anymore, but the mark on his body would remain as a parting gift given by the wood hounds of Zeebrugge.

Sounds of rushing water in the bathroom adjacent to his cabin told him Nguyen was taking a shower. He had quickly discovered that the cat cook that was his ‘bathroommate’ tended to forget locking the door on his side, much to both their horror when Bart accidentally walked in while the Vietnamese was taking his shower. Several swear words in Vietnamese, Dutch and some confused apologies in broken English later, Bart stuck a Post-it note saying ‘trust your ears, not the door’ in Dutch on the bathroom door.

It still amazed him how quickly he had gotten accustomed to life on a ship with so many foreigners from all around the globe. And he was the one who kept badmouthing the navy every chance he got before the Event!

Technically they were merchants, not navy, so he was still free to do it.

His horn lit up and a drawer opened in the cabin’s desk, a bottle of water flying out of it and towards his awaiting mouth. Much as he disliked the loss of his hands, he had to admit there were some practical advantages to this whole telekinesis gig. He was still having difficulties moving more than two objects at once, but he certainly wasn’t lacking in precision.

In fact it even helped him be better at his job as the ship’s ‘gunsmith’. He was able to reach places he knew he never could have even with specialized tool, and removing grime from a rifle’s chamber was now done effortlessly with a mere glimmer of his horn. Anything that was related to guns, he could easily achieve with the magic of telekinesis and some ingenuity.

Well, not really anything. He couldn’t conjure the parts they needed to modify the FNC’s out of thin air for one. That would have to wait until they found a stash of Ak-5 in Sweden.

Bart’s musings were stopped by a soft glow on the edge of his vision. The curtains were drawn and the lights off, but he could spy a small glow emanating from one of the drawers under his bed. Odd, he didn’t remember putting his flashlight in that one. It was the one with the sword… Then again he could be mistaken.

He pulled the drawer open, intent on turning off the light before it burned through its batteries, only to find that it was the drawer with the sword. The same sword he had gotten from his unit’s regimental museum, the one that had belonged to the Administrator-General of the Congo Free State.

And the pink diamond in its pommel was glowing. Not like a car’s headlights or anything that intense, in fact he was pretty sure the glow wouldn’t be noticeable in broad daylight, but in the dim light of his cabin he could see the gem imbedded in the pommel release a faint pinkish light. He pulled it out of its scabbard, and it turned out that the heavily engraved blade was glowing as well.

Actually, now that he lifted it in his telekinesis, Bart noticed how hard it was to make the telekinetic wrap around it. Nothing impossible, but by comparison it was much harder to lift than a machinegun from the armory. He could even feel a slight feeling of dread deep in his gut when he looked at the gem.

“Hoe raar…” He muttered under his breath.

Gently depositing the sword on his bed, the unicorn grabbed the dirty set of coveralls in his laundry basket. There was no way in Hell he was sleeping with that in his cabin; this was going straight to the armory until he could get someone to take a look at it.

The next day marked the 21st of June, and on that day the Captains were finally satisfied with the training of both crews after countless hours on the range and in the kill house. They were deemed fit enough with their guns not to accidentally shoot their teammates in the back and with recent enough training in firefighting and emergencies that they wouldn’t watch the ships burn down helplessly. A fire drill would have to be scheduled on board at some point, but the fully fledged exercise could wait a week or two.

The first expeditions to be sent out were the usual art retrieval and other HPI related missions in the city center proper. They sent a couple trucks to small scale museums to empty them and bring back the art pieces, but Captain Gerig herself ordered them not to go for big targets like the crown jewels or the SMK just yet. She wanted to send a bigger convoy that would be able to do it in one go.

Beside those expeditions, another that finally left the terminal was the one headed to Sweden. Micha managed to get herself on the roster for that one by using her having already been to Sweden as a justification, though she couldn’t convince Dilip to let her bring Vadim along. Her mate was otherwise busy keeping watch and studying medicine under Doctor Delacroix, the French hippogriff apparently having a very clear path for him to follow.

A pity truly, but she had an expedition to get on with. Half an hour after breakfast, Micha was seen driving a Land Rover off the ramp of Amandine. She quickly stopped by Rhine Forest to pick up a crewmember to complete her team, and then they were off towards the town of Malmo. The city was built on the opposite side of the Oresund, a mere fifty kilometers away from where they had moored their vessels by road.

The sole thing that made the trip doable by road and allowed them not to use one of the Rhine’s tugs was the highway that crossed the strait. It first dove under the waters in a (thankfully still ventilated, they had checked) tunnel near Copenhagen’s airport before emerging on a small sandy island covered in lichen halfway through the strait and crossing the rest of the way via a bridge.

A clever solution made by local governments: it created a path for trains and cars while still allowing ships to traverse the Oresund and reach the Baltic Sea. Considering the standards of construction in Northern Europe, Micha wouldn’t be surprised if it survived another half a decade of decay and lack of maintenance before collapsing.

“So what are we looking for exactly?” Danny asked her from the passenger seat.

“Intel.” Micha simply said. “We need to find a Swedish military base.”

“Then why are we going to a city and not the countryside? Last I checked they rarely built bases downtown.” A yellow male hippogriff piped in from the back.

Or Frederik as he was called. A young eighteen-year-old engine cadet that came from the Rhine Forest. A cadet really was the only thing Captain Gerig had been willing to spare for her expedition, not that she minded. As long as her minimal team size of three was fulfilled, she had no reason to complain.

For whatever reason, Gerig had decided that the half-dozen cadets on his crew would be issued sub-machineguns instead of the carbines and rifles the rest of the barge carrier’s crew used, which is how the young German found himself with a silenced MP5 in his talons.

“We don’t want to comb an entire province worth of countryside just to find a base.” Micha explained. “Malmo’s one of the biggest cities in Sweden, it’s bound to have a recruitment center or a reservists’ office we can find. Then we can get the address to the… regional HQ or whatever it is they call it.”

“And how exactly do we find it?” Danny said with a hint of doubt in the golden parakeet’s voice.

“Either we get lucky and just happen to find a storefront with soldiers on it… or we attempt to be a little more clever than that and check out the yellow pages at the town hall. I’d rather go for the latter personally. Frederik, can you grab the backpack I left in the back seat?”

The hippogriff sitting in the back lifted a small canvas backpack in which Micha had put extra supplies on his lap. Following another instruction from the griffon behind the wheel, he opened it to reveal a trio of small blue books along with Micha’s supplies and extra ammo.

“English to Swedish dictionary, that way we can translate and know what to look for exactly. I looted them yesterday from a book shop.” Micha told the other two. “I’ve already been to Sweden once, not in Malmo I’ll admit, but it’s the same brand of book I used on my trip. Works well enough if you know what word you’re looking for.”

“Wait, you’ve already been to Sweden?” Danny burst out.

“Further north, biking trip with my… wife.” With what had happened between her and Vadim recently the word left a bizarre taste in her beak. “Biked all the way around Lake Vattern three years ago. Can’t say I can speak Swedish but I know a few words and some tips on how to get around.”

At the mention of a wife Danny gained an understanding gleam in her eyes. The yellow feathers parrot gave the griffon a complicit nod that went unseen by Frederik. She knew how it felt, her situation with Carlos being pretty much identical as Micha’s with Vadim, though much less intimate. It felt good, natural… as long as they didn’t think about before the Event. She used to have a wife and family herself before, all the way back in Manila.

How hard it had become to associate herself with such a distant life.

Soon, their Defender reached the end of the bridge to Sweden. They could see a vast expanse of dry, yellowish grasslands ahead of them, interspersed with shrubs and short bushes at regular intervals. Here and there, small dunes held in place by hardy grass broke up the monotony of the landscape. They bordered the roads and blocked off most of the view they had of Malmo.

Exiting the highway, they reached the city within minutes of driving. It wasn’t nearly as big and sprawling as Copenhagen, but much like the city on the other side of the strait its city planners had planted a lot of vegetation all over the place. The greenery only faded away once they were in downtown Malmo proper to trade place with an architectural style not unlike Copenhagen’s, albeit with much less modern buildings or frills.

Just as planned, they found the town hall on a plaza decorated with circular patterns and multiple fountains that had dried up weeks ago. A green statue of Charles X Gustav covered in patina was staring straight at the building through its inanimate, soulless eyes from its position atop a horse in the middle of the plaza. The town hall itself was built on a base of pale grey stones. Red brick walls rose up from the base, contrasting with the black stones of the quasi-gothic arches that enshrined the windows of its façade. The motto of the city was engraved in golden filigree just below the top of the building, where marble statues inside small alcoves lined the copper-sheet covered roof.

Micha only spared a few seconds to take in the architecture before she parked her Land Rover in front of the main door.

They were forced to break it open in order to get in, but it was a possibility they had foreseen before leaving Copenhagen. A liberal application of a crowbar and much swearing later, the now slightly splintered door swung open.

The inside of the building fit its outside appearance, though the lower levels they visited bore the marks of modernization in the shape of computers and modern appliances. They were careful to approach the situation as if monsters could get the drop on them any moment… but it was not to be. Not a single demonic circle was found that day.

Between the three of them, they managed to extract a host of useful data from the city hall, including the location of a Swedish army base some eighty kilometers or so further inland in a place called Revingehed. They spent the better part of two hours sorting the files and notes before loading them in their Land Rover. Most of what they loaded was in Swedish and they only really had a vague idea of what it was about by a few keywords and the title, but that was for Roberto and the Rhine’s secretary to sort out. And maybe their Logistics Officer as well if he was unlucky enough to get roped into the translation effort.

“So that’s all?” Frederik asked in disbelief as he carried one last stack of repertories and leaflets out of the building.

“What do you mean that’s all? We got an entire truck of intel!” Danny cried out just behind him. “The hell were you expecting, cadet?” She asked him.

“Dunno really.” The hippogriff shrugged with his wings after dropping his load in the back of the Land Rover. “I just expected it to be a bit harder than that is all.”

“Bases are not some kind of closely guarded military secret you know.” Danny pointed out. “Not bases like that anyway, from what I understand it’s a regional command centre.” She added with a click of her beak.

“But you’re not saying all bases are as easy to locate as that.”

“Of course not!” The golden parakeet laughed. “But I don’t think we’d have any use for the contents of a super secret nuclear silo or whatever.”

“True, true.” Fred nodded. “Still, I kinda expected it’d have taken us a little bit longer than that…” He trailed off.

“Bear with me. I’m a certified welder, the moment we get back I’ll have to go back to working on the modifications. You’re just gonna get stuck watching a checkpoint for the rest of the afternoon.” Danny told him. “Been doing so much of that lately, can’t get the smell outta my nostrils.”

“Nobody said we had to hurry you know.” Micha interrupted the two of them from the city hall’s entrance. “I’ll let the two of you in on a little secret about this expedition…” The griffon said quietly as she crept closer to them. “I, for one, willingly overestimated the time it would take by three hours or so in order to get some time away from the port. Now I don’t suppose you have a… shop or whatever you felt like robbing during the apocalypse?”

Neither Danny nor Fred said anything. They just nodded complicitly before piling back in the Land Rover.

All three of them had a bucket list of sorts regarding what kind of stuff they’d happily loot, and they spent a little while mingling around town in their truck. They couldn’t exactly take much since the 4x4 was already filled to the brim with raw intel, but there were a couple things they could spare room for. Danny for one had them load a box of assorted dried and canned fruits (according to the parrot, they tasted heavenly to her transformed taste buds, enough not to make her regret meat) while Fred settled for breaking into a book shop and taking a couple books from what looked like a fantasy themed shelf to Micha and Danny. Not that the two higher ranked sailors would have known what 5th Edition was, but apparently it was popular among the Rhine’s small circle of cadets and the book shop was stocked with the English version.

As for Micha, she decided robbing a CD store was worth her time. They found a small shop near a park not too far from the town hall, and so Amandine’s Second Officer found herself browsing through rows upon rows of CD’s, vinyl’s and music memorabilia. She was a pretty big fan of heavy metal and hard rock, and there were a few best-of collections in there that found a place in her backpack, including some she knew she already had back home in Gdansk.

Considering how unlikely it was she would ever see her home in the near future, looking for replacements wasn’t a bad idea altogether.

Before they left, the female griffon quietly padded over to the Classical aisle. Not that she liked it overly much… but Vadim looked like he did if the CD’s in his cabin were anything to go by. She snuck a couple such collections in the backpack she had adapted to fit her new form while Danny and Fred were busy looking at guitars. The bag itself wasn’t too different from a human one, but she had been forced to add several transverse straps to keep it in place due to her quadruped stance.

Motioning to her companions that it was time to go, Micha finally moved out towards the exit of the small shop, her backpack now a little bit heavier. She stopped on the threshold just to take in the sight of the park on the other side of the street. A little one-meter high fence separated it from the city, grey stone trading place with lush vegetation. Gravel pathways snaked their way between trees that had been planted just far enough from each other to create shade without cluttering the scenery. The lawns were overgrown and the hedges and bushes around the park’s ponds were now spreading out of their intended spots… but it still was a pleasant sight to behold.

And then a feather glided down to the ground not even a meter in front of her beak. She stopped. Fred and Danny stopped just behind her.

Slowly, Micha craned her neck upward. High above her, on the edge of the roof, a pair of yellow raptor eyes stared back at her in curiosity.

There was a griffon looking down at them on the roof.

She was obviously a female: ruby red feathers surrounded her eyes, not unlike the green ones around Micha’s. In fact the other griffon was half bald eagle like the Pole, her other half being that of a cougar. The only reason she was able to tell she was half cougar being that: one, Vadim was half cougar; two, she was only wearing a tattered t-shirt on her frame.

Micha was also pretty sure the griffon was a kid… or chick probably in that case (or cub maybe?). A particularly young kid if she compared her size to that of the only young griffon she knew of, Izaak, Rhine Forest’s second bosun.

The feather she had spotted falling down didn’t come from the chick. No, it came from the pigeon the kid was in the process of munching down like it was the most normal thing in the world.

The chick finished her… meal and then proceeded to stare straight at Micha for a couple seconds.

“Hey…” The Pole tentatively said, waving at the kid with one of her claws.

That got a reaction out of the kid, because the instant Micha raised her limb, the smaller griffon stood up and screeched at her before leaping off the building, much to the surprise of all three sailors below her.

The chick was obviously more skilled at gliding than most sailors in the fleet because she managed to cross the street by frenetically flapping her small wings and landed in a tree. She turned back towards them and let out another screech before jumping towards the next tree deeper in the park.

It took a whole five seconds for their collective minds to start working again. Micha shook off the surprise with a soft growl before running off after the kid in a full sprint.

“Get the truck and try to get around the park!” She barked at the two sailors behind her before she leaped over the park’s short fence.

The Polish griffon didn’t look back to check if they had heard her order correctly, instead being entirely focused on chasing the fleeing kid whose tail she could see disappearing through the brush some hundred meters ahead of her. She had lost the advantage of altitude and was now rushing through the overgrown hedges.

Good, that meant she was as much of a glider as Micha was, she wouldn’t have her fly off in the sunset then. She was pretty sure that under normal circumstances she wouldn’t have had any problem catching up with a running kid, but unlike Vadim she had yet to train her running skills on a treadmill. Not helping was the fact that she was currently burdened by the not insignificant amount of gear she was carrying.

Micha was no soldier, and having to sprint with a heavy flak jacket weighing her down along with a fully loaded backpack, expedition gear and her hunting rifle whose stock bounced painfully against her hindquarters gave her more than enough of a handicap.

Apocalypse or not, you can’t just abandon a kid in a city, and that one being only clad in a tattered t-shirt didn’t leave her thinking she had an adult with her.

Chapter 30: Shiny and Tasty

Micha barged through a grove of willow trees at full running speed. The heavy fronds hanging from the branches whipped at her face and snagged on her beak and jacket but she didn’t lose track of the kid running away from her by the banks of the ponds. It took all of her concentration not to trip on the roots that coiled around the trees at her feet, but she was gaining on the kid.

With the rhythmic thumping of her paws and claws against the grass, the distance that separated the older griffon from the chick steadily decreased from a hundred meters, to sixty, then thirty. Micha could feel the burning pain of strained muscles in her thighs as she pushed harder on her legs to catch up…

And then the kid just had to outwit her.

She thought she had managed to corner the little griffon when she started to run towards a small windmill built on an artificial hillock. Obviously she was wrong because the kid clambered up a flight of stairs on the exterior of the structure and used them as a launching ramp to catch some air under her wings and increase the distance that separated her from the Pole. That had Micha release a frustrated squawk because of how her heavy flak jacket prevented her from opening her wings. In a matter of seconds, the distance she had managed to gain on her quarry evaporated into nothing.

But she didn’t give up. She saw the other griffon veer south towards the opposite side of the park and she followed suit. She hoped the kid wasn’t clever enough to lead her away from her hideout, maybe if she kept it up long enough she could manage to corner her and then…

Well, bring her back to Amandine probably. You can’t just leave a kid unattended like that. Not with monsters around.

The chase led them to the edge of the park where the smaller griffon quickly snuck under the fence and ran for a block of buildings on the other side of the road. Frederik and Danny in the Defender tried to intercept her, but the 4x4 certainly wasn’t meant to race around the streets. Micha kept running after her across the street, her orange clad form passing her beleaguered colleagues in a blur.

The group of buildings the kid had ran off to formed a courtyard of sorts in the center, with lawns, benches, and a playground occupying the space next to a modern looking pavilion. Behind the kid, Micha saw her dive inside of a broken window next to the playground. In all her hurry, she jumped after the chick.

Not a bright idea. She just had enough time to grab the broken edge of the window to catch her fall. The window opened up to a three-story fall inside of what appeared to be the lobby of an underground mall. Bits of broken glass harmlessly dug in her Kevlar reinforced gloves as she held on and looked around for a way down.

Micha managed to grab onto a pipe next to the window and slide down to the ground with a low growl escaping her beak. The hall that greeted her opened in four different directions with shops all around. There was a circular staircase in the center of the hall, wrapping around a now dry fountain with plastic ferns. It connected to the pavilion she had seen way up above her, and there were some picnic tables and a lobby counter at its bottom.

The place was pretty dark, with the only light coming in from the windows and the staircase. The dusty, abandoned hallways quickly turned to pitch black the deeper she peered in. This struck her as odd, because despite the abandoned status of the building she was pretty sure there was still some current in the city’s power grid, what with the usual Northern European use of green energy.

Actually no, she doubted a kid would know how to flip the fuses, let alone locate the electrical cabinet.

Now to figure out where said kid had run off to… The bald eagle griffon’s head swiveled around to look for any possible hint of activity or even the telltale clicking sound of talons on the tiled floor. Everything inside was covered in a layer of dust… except… She could see an area where the layer was thinner, and the rays of sunlight streaming in highlighted dust particles in the air around the eastern wing of the mall. Quietly so as not to alert the younger griffon, Micha crept in that direction with her body as close to the ground as possible.

There were more hints of activity. Some of the fences protecting the storefronts had been broken open at a low height and some discarded bags of snacks and junk food marked out a path for her deeper inside the mall. Micha followed the path ahead of her, her sharp eyes scanning the murky darkness that surrounded her, mindful not to step on any of the trash littering the area lest she reveal her position.

Skylights pierced the roof at regular intervals, allowing some much needed light inside the mall and forming bright circles amidst all the darkness. She carefully circled around them so as not to make herself easier to notice while she kept following the trail left behind by the kid griffon. Bizarrely, the technique on how to stalk without making naturally came to her. Instincts? Most likely, but it was rather odd to notice now considering she was tracking down a member of her own species.

Eventually, Micha reached a cul-de-sac in the mall that was occupied by a toy store. She wasn’t even surprised the kid would use that as her lair.

There was a hole in the storefront’s fence, just slightly shorter than Micha was. She could see some fluorescent stickers marking its barely visible edges. A half-loaded garden wagon waited next to the entrance, its bed currently occupied by boxes of junk food, plush toys, and a toy lantern.

Disregarding the wagon, she crept through the hole on her belly, mindful not to have her gear snag on the jagged edges of the hole. What did the kid even use to make that? Her talons?

The inside of the toy store was lit dimly by a number of hand cranked lamps set up here and there on top of counters and aisles. It looked like a big store, but she would readily bet much of that was owed to the darkness inside. Micha stood up in front of the entrance hole and started looking around for the kid, now pretty sure she would find her here. There were hints of her presence all over the place ranging from opened toy boxes to piles of snacks on top of some shelves. She didn’t distance herself from the entrance just yet in case the younger griffon was waiting for that to sneak away.

Her eyes landed on a large pile of plush toys. Were it not for the telltale gleam of raptor eyes she would have mistaken the small chick staring back at her for one of the toys. Micha quirked her head to the side in curiosity. The kid didn’t appear angry or scared now… just a bit confused it seemed. She could see her cute little eyes study her intently, the gears in the mind of the younger griffon probably turning frenetically at the moment.

Micha didn’t move from her spot. She just sat down on her haunches and casually shrugged off her backpack.

“You run fast you know kid? Hard to keep up with you loaded like I am. This bag is kinda heavy you know?” She commented offhandedly in English as she gave her backpack a slap with the palm of her claw, carefully studying the kid’s reaction out of the corner of her eyes.

Not unexpectedly, the child didn’t appear to understand what she was saying. She forced herself to remember some basic sentences in Swedish she had learned last time she had been on vacation in the area. Now was not the time to dig around her bag for a dictionary, although…

With one free claw, Micha started feeling for a specific bag inside her backpack while she kept her eyes on the kid hiding among the plush toys. She could see her nervously clutching a lime green soft blanket in her talons, young eyes meeting hers in apprehension.

“Hej.” Micha tried. “Vad heter du?”

The small griffon just tilted her head and blinked at her.

Great, either she was too young to talk or she wasn’t even Swedish... not really much of a surprise in Malmo actually. What other nationalities were there in this town already? Arabs didn’t turn into griffons, but that’s about the only ethnicity she would expect there. A tourist maybe? No, not in May. Too early in the season to visit with kids.

Plan B then.

The claw she had in her backpack grasped at a sealed plastic bag she kept with her. Her snack stash. The sealed bag was there for a reason, herbivores around the crew tended to react badly to that particular smell.

It being smell of dried meat. Micha knew her own palate had changed after her transformation to favor a more protein-rich diet (though she could still process veggies and starch, she just didn’t need them quite as much) and as such her already present fondness of cured meat had only increased. It was such a shame that they had to spice up their meat all the time, but she was pretty sure the herbivores would get used to the smell at some point.

Another thing she was pretty damn sure of was that the kid griffon that had survived on junk food for... however long she had been in Malmo, would just love some kielbasa from the Second Officer’s personal stash. Before the Event Micha had always made a point of resupplying her stash from her favorite butcher whenever she went back to Gdansk. She was nearing the end of it now, but maybe this kid deserved a share.

The chick visibly perked up the moment she pulled out the bag and opened it, a hungry look appearing on her features and a soft purr escaping her throat.

“Want some?” Micha asked, holding out a sausage for the kid to see.

The small griffon stood up hesitantly. A couple of the plush toys she had been hiding under slid off of her tiny back, allowing Micha to look at her in more detail despite the darkness surrounding them. She was wearing a tattered white t-shirt with ‘Andy’ printed on its front and back. From the looks of it, the garment hadn’t been cleaned in a while.

She could also see how emaciated the kid actually was. Her ribs were clearly visible beneath the fur and feathers around her midsection, and the very hungry look in her eyes told her the junk food clearly didn’t satisfy the needs of a growing griffon. Her plumage was unkempt, with bent feathers sticking out at odd angles.

And she smelled. Badly.

Micha ignored the pungent smell of a griffon with poor hygiene and instead gave the kid an encouraging nod as she slowly crept out of her hiding spot, still keeping her blanket and one dolphin plushy close to her tucked under one of her wings. She tensely approached the older bald eagle griffon, belly held close to the ground and muscles taut, ready to scamper off at a moment’s notice.

Micha still occupied the only escape route.

With an encouraging smile from the Polish Officer, she snatched the offered sausage and retreated back to a safe distance before sniffing at it hesitantly.

“It’s good. Will taste better than a pigeon I think.” Micha told her in Polish. For all it was worth she might as well speak her own native language.

The sausage was devoured in seconds, much to Micha’s amusement when the kid let out a cute hiccup but came back for more. With a small chirp and a pointed talon towards Micha’s backpack, she managed to get a few more sausages out of her stash, her own need for food overcoming her fear of the unknown, much bigger griffon. She laid down on her belly to enjoy the meat and drink greedily from Micha’s canteen for a moment before she rubbed herself against the Officer like a housecat and, with a low purr escaping her throat, fell asleep from the food-induced drowsiness.

“Cute kid.” Micha’s beak parted in a wide smile.

“You kidnapped a kid.”

“Did not! She was abandoned!”

After careful maneuvering with a sleeping griffon on her back and the kid’s small stash of belongings with her (just a couple toys, the dolphin plushy and the blanket really), Micha had managed to get her in the Defender and back to Amandine without too much trouble save for a bit of uncertainty when she met the rest of Micha’s team. Thankfully, having some good food after however long she had had to survive on snacks made her drowsy enough that she didn’t throw too much of a fuss.

“You don’t even know her name.” Vadim pointed out.

The small griffon was merrily snoozing away inside one of Amandine’s cabins after Vadim had given her a brief medical inspection. Except for her being in need of a damn good scrubbing and a steady diet, she appeared to have gotten off her predicament fairly lightly. The two Officers were just outside her cabin discussing what would become of her.

“Andy, probably. I mean, it’s written on her t-shirt.” She told with a shrug of her wings.

“That nasty rag she was wearing? Yes, I read that before I tossed it in the biohazard bin. Doesn’t mean that’s her actual name.”

“Well, we just need to check if she responds to Andy then.”

“Do you even know what language she speaks?” Vadim asked.

“Nope.” Micha shook her head. “Not Polish for sure, and not English or Swedish either. Then again… it’s Malmo we’re talking about.”

Vadim rolled his eyes as he tucked his medical satchel under one wing.

“Look… A merchant vessel isn’t the place to raise a kid.”

“Neither is an abandoned city.” She waved a claw towards the cabin’s door. “I mean, you’ve seen her awake just as I have. She’s almost feral for Christ’s sake!”

The Third Officer let out a tired sigh.

“Mich’… I will back you up when you decide to bring it up to the Captain that you want us to keep her. I believe you when you tell me there weren’t any parents around but… the rest of the crew…” He hesitated.

“The rest of the crew what?”

“Come on now, don’t be daft.” He pointed a talon at her. “Half bald eagle…” Then at himself. “…half cougar…” Before pointing it at the closed door next to them. “Half bald eagle, half cougar. You catch my drift?”

“They wouldn’t…”

“Totally would, Boris at least I can guarantee.” He assured her. “And this will probably raise some eyebrows on the Rhine too.”

Micha deflated slightly, a resigned growl escaping her beak. Vadim padded over to her wrapped a wing around her side.

“I’m not saying you did the wrong thing. Just saying this ain’t gonna be easy.”

Micha instinctively pressed herself closer to what her brain kept calling her ‘mate’. She nipped at his neck feathers but didn’t say anything.

“I just need to ask you one thing…” Vadim added in a whisper. “Is this about the kid you had coming before the Event?”

“What if it is?” She asked defensively.

Vadim threw her a sympathetic look.

“Nothing wrong at all. It hurts doesn’t it?”

Micha allowed herself to bury her head in his neck.

“She was near full term… I was going to be a parent Vad’. And now… I just can’t bring myself to abandon a kid like that you know? I have to live with the fact that my own flesh and blood will grow up without a father, but maybe I can at least help the one kid?”

“I understand.” Vadim nodded. “Kid’s gonna be out for a while, want to go out for some flight training, blow off some steam? Captain’s busy anyway; we don’t have to tell him just yet and I’ve been cooped up all day studying medicine.”

“You’re on.” Micha replied with a small smile.

It still surprised Vadim how easily he could fall into a relationship like that with what used to be his best friend. Not that he’d ever complain, it somehow felt more natural and fulfilling than any of his former relationships.

That and the female griffon did have a nice rear end to look at.

Whatever the buck was going on on this planet, they definitely hadn’t been prepared for it.

Doctor Sidereal found herself panting from magical exertion in front of the body of a particularly vicious tatzlwurm that had crossed their path, its carcass bearing scorch marks from her spells as well as broken bolts courtesy of Gust’s hunting crossbow.

They had been traversing the Swedish countryside just fine minutes ago, following a road next to Lake Vattern that crossed through numerous abandoned fields when the creature had burst out of the ground and immediately started attacking them. The non-combatants in their group of five had immediately scattered and galloped towards the barn of a deserted farmstead, leaving the trained mage and the crossbowcolt to deal with the threat.

Sidereal knew she was lucky. Rogue tatzlwurms usually required a full hunting party to take down. That one…

Her thoughts were interrupted by Gust landing by her side, the pegasus’ usually eccentric demeanor replaced by cold professionalism.

“The others should be here in a minute ma’am, no casualty. Are you injured?” He asked her as he checked the status of his crossbow.

“Just a bit tired, thank you.” Sidereal said. “Say, you’re an Everfree Ranger right?”

Gust nodded.

“What can you tell me about that one?” She asked, motioning towards the carcass with her horn.

The gambeson wearing Pegasus frowned.

“A juvenile for sure. The darker crest on its head says it’s from deep in the Everfree, probably the southern grove though the wavy scale pattern around its eyes could also mean it’s from Whitetail Woods. We’re lucky it’s a young one, older specimens have much more resistant scales. What’s odd is… at that age it should be with its broodmates, not alone in the countryside…” He explained.

“Or on an alien planet. I don’t think this planet is supposed to have Everfree monsters inhabiting it.”

“I don’t know about this planet but that…” The stallion waved his hoof towards the carcass. “… That’s definitely an Equestrian breed. Weirder even is that tatzlwurms need a lot of soil to live in, they don’t like rocky areas, they can’t dig properly and it hurts their teeth. If you look down the hole it came from you can clearly see the dirt layer is too thin for it to thrive.”

“So what is it doing here?” Radiant Course asked as he landed behind them. The team’s second Pegasus served as their navigator and technical expert.

To say he was out of his league with human tech would have been the understatement of the year. Luckily, the grey coated Pegasus with a black mane seemed to take it in stride.

“No idea.” Gust shrugged. “Nopony ever told me during the pre-expedition briefings there were honest-to-Celestia monsters on Earth. Critters? Sure, but no monster.”

“At least we’re lucky we had an Everfree Ranger along.” Cheese Cake said as she trotted around the dead tatzlwurm to take a look.

“We are. But the other teams…” Sidereal whispered. She could swear one of the returning teams on the first wave had come back babbling about a troll. Nopony really believed them at the time, and the report had probably been lost in bureaucratic limbo…

“Hey! I found something!” Cheese cried out from the other side of the carcass.

The lanky unicorn was pointing her hoof at… some sort of sigil burned into the flesh of the dead monster. The runic symbols were of a type she didn’t recognize, but it definitely didn’t come from anywhere in Equestria, or any allied country for that matter. The symbol formed the general shape of a circle with thirteen different runes at irregular intervals on its border. A bigger one occupied the center of the sigil, with lines connecting it to the smaller ones that were themselves connected to each other by several lines as well.

She immediately pulled a notepad out of her saddlebag and set to copying it. It had been clearly stated to her that her role on this expedition was as magical support to the Doctor and as their scribe.

“Anything you recognize Doc?” Pulp, the group’s only Earth Pony asked.

“No. Runic magic isn’t used in Equestria, and anywhere else in the world its use is clearly –and obviously may I say- forbidden on living creatures.”

“A rogue mage then?”

“For all this tells us, yes.” She nodded. “I… have no idea what the purpose of this sigil is. You’d have to ask foreign mages for that, and even then I suspect they’d have difficulties with it.”

“What makes you think that?” Pulp asked

“For what little I know about runes, they usually stay similar to their nation’s local alphabet.” The Doctor explained. “That doesn’t match any civilization I know of.” She waved a hoof at the symbol.

“What if the locals did it?” Radiant said.

“Disregarding the fact that they’re not supposed to have access to magic because it kills them?” Pulp reminded him.

“Fair point. So what do we do?” Cheese asked, stowing her notepad back inside her saddlebags with her telekinesis.

“We keep going.” Sidereal stated firmly. “Tonight I’ll send a report of the engagement, but going back and forth from here to Equestria costs too much energy. If we go back now, the entire expedition is as good as scrapped.”

“What if we find more monsters?” Cheese gulped.

“Then we have our dear Ranger to protect us.” The red unicorn said glancing towards Gust. “I believe if he can somehow traverse the Everfree without getting chased by each and every monster there, then he can help us here?”

Gust nodded grimly.

“How far is it to the returnees you detected Doc?”

“We’re halfway there. A big group too, too big to call off the expedition.” Her eyes flashed white for an instant when she called up a spell of mage sight for a second to ensure they were still galloping along the right track.

“What’s the size of the group?” Pulp asked.

“More than five dozens.” Sidereal’s eyes returned to their original color.

“Wasn’t the biggest group ever found less than thirteen?” He asked.

“Eleven to be precise, Uzbeks they called themselves.” She nodded before clenching her eyes. The magic field enveloping this planet was completely different from Equestria’s. Its energies were still swirling wildly, much more chaotically than she had ever seen back home. “Cheese, did you draw the sigil? I’ll need it tonight for my report.” She asked, one hoof pressed against her throbbing temple.

“Yes ma’am.”

“Good. Good. Radiant, you still got our path planned?”

He did. The grey coated Pegasus steered them south towards the cluster of minds Sidereal had detected so far away. They kept following the edge of Lake Vattern for a while, its dark blue waters shimmering on their right and rolling hillocks on their left as they trotted on. Small red painted farmsteads dotted the rural landscape on either side of the road they were following.

The rough black asphalt of the road they were following still amazed the ponies. It forced them to keep to the side of the road to avoid chipping their hooves, but the sole feat of laying down such hard road on the entire network just for their self-propelled carts was a feat of engineering already considered excessive by Equestrian standards.

That humans could seemingly lay down work of that quality on almost every single road they had seen was not only impressive, but it also casually made a mockery of modern Equestrian infrastructure. Only a few large cities could afford roads like that, and even then it was just the likes of Manehattan, Canterlot and Fillydelphia.

And that wasn’t even addressing the extent of the wire poles they could see crossing the landscape and following the roads.

Just how good were human engineers exactly?

Later in the evening,

Dilip leaned back in his chair and looked directly at the griffon couple sitting in front of his desk. And there was also the kid griffon (cub? Chick? You’re never too sure with chimeras) sitting between them, currently distractedly nibbling on a piece of beef jerky and looking around his office with eyes filled with curiosity. The two Officers had actually managed to make her presentable to Amandine’s Captain, though the oversized clothes she was wearing clearly came from one of their wardrobes.

“This isn’t really a choice you’re bringing me you know?” The pariah dog told them before letting out a long sigh. “I always hated that kind of fake choice that forces your hand anyway.” He muttered.

“Sir?” Micha cocked her head.

“Not your fault Przemo.” Dilip shook his head. “You did the right thing by bringing her. I just felt like complaining because really, what can I do beside approve your choice? I’d be a pretty bad person were I to order you to abandon this child. Does she have a name?”

“Andy apparently, though I have no idea what it’s a short for.” Micha told the Captain. “Vadim did run a quick medical checkup on her, she appears to be healthy, if a bit underweight.”

“And how old is she exactly?” He asked, staring directly at the child.

The little griffon stared directly back at the dog in wonder, the red feathers surrounding her eyes disturbingly similar to Micha’s green ones.

“We don’t know for sure.” Vadim said. “She doesn’t talk, but she moves around alright. Three years old maybe?” He shrugged.

“So you really haven’t found much about her. Regardless, she may stay on board, but this ship isn’t meant to ferry kids around. Any moment she slips out of the accommodation could be one where she gets hurt because of heavy machinery. You two shall be her caretakers. Now, I don’t ask you to be the ones to keep an eye on her all the time, but make sure someone does, understood?”

“Aye Captain.” Both griffons said at once.

“And make sure she gets dressed properly too.” He said, eyeing the ill-fitting clothes the child was wearing. “Now, that’s one thing out of the way. Do you two remember what I said about flying when we reappeared?”

Micha and Vadim threw each other a sideways glance.

“So you do remember.” He continued calmly. “Good, I was worried about the state of your memory for an instant. I must say, I’m disappointed by your actions. Yours in particular surprise me Przemo. I thought you were more conscious of safety procedures than that.”

“Sir!” She tried.

“I’m not done yet.” Dilip raised a paw to stop her. “We are not in a position where we can afford to have casualties, in particular if such a casualty happens to be my Medical Officer considering the current status of Doctor Delacroix.” He said giving Vadim a pointed look. “But I’m not a stubborn person. So why didn’t you two try to change my mind with proper form? Neither of you is alien to the concept of risk assessment nor of preventive measures as far as I know.”

The two griffons in front of him had the presence of mind to lower their heads in shame.

“I can understand you two wanting to try out your wings, and if the cameras showed me correctly so did Boris. What I don’t understand is… whatever the fuck you two were thinking when you started this.” He said with a wave of his paw.

“We did take measures. Kept a radio on claw, fashioned a landing pad…” Micha began.

“Then why didn’t you just come to me with the proper paperwork instead of sneaking around behind my back?” Dilip cut her off. The pariah dog pinched his muzzle in frustration. “Whatever… You do understand I can’t let this slide? The dragons came to me with ideas to safely exercise their fire breath, so have the hippogriffs for their aquatic shape and the sphinxes for both their telekinesis and the paralyzing breath…” The dog stopped talking for a second to serve himself a glass of water which he immediately gulped down. “Punitive actions are in order.”

“I understand.” Vadim nodded softly.

Dilip twirled a pencil in his paw as he looked at the two in front of him, and at the smaller griffon that was now wondering why the mood had gone down so suddenly. Not that he could be too heavy handed considering the amount of work that needed to be done around the docks.

That being said, flying…

He put down the pencil and brought his two paws together.

“I won’t be too harsh, but this better not happen again in the future alright? You’re both on laundry and kitchen duty for the next three weeks, ask Farkas to get your tasks from her. You tell Boris he’s included as well.” He paused. “In addition, I want you both to prepare a refresher briefing for the rest of the crew on our safety procedures and the means that can be used to set up non-routine tasks. Once you’re done with that… how good have you gotten at flying?”

“I beg your pardon sir?” Micha asked quizzically.

“Flying.” He said, making a flapping motion with his paws. “How good are you?”

“At the moment we’re just starting to learn how to retain our altitude and maneuver properly around containers. Gliding and landing are fine on the other err… claw.”

“That will be good enough for now. I want a flight training program for all winged species on my desk no later than tomorrow evening, copy?” He ordered.

“Captain?” Vadim quirked his head.

“Might as well get a benefit out of your initiative. If we can profit from the sphinxes’ telekinesis or the hippogriffs’ aquatic shape, then we can find some use for flyers as well. You both will be the instructors. Any objections?”

“No Captain.”

“Good.” The pariah dog waved one paw in a dismissing gesture. “Now get out of my sight.”

The two griffons nodded and left without a word, ushering the child he had just put under their care towards the door.

Alejandro was right though. They did make a cute couple. As long as their relationship didn’t hinder the workings of the vessel he wouldn’t step in. Still, a shame he had lost that bet. The Spaniard had really taken quite a chunk out of his liquor stash.

In the center of Copenhagen was a large park with carefully grown gardens that housed several of the city’s largest museums. Most of the gardeners’ work was now undone by time as roots crept through the pavement of the numerous small paths that allowed visitors to have a stroll through the area. The gardens weren’t completely overgrown yet, but the sight that greeted the incoming convoy of sailors would have had the former gardeners tear their hair out in horror.

Of the many museums in the vicinity, two were the center of the sailors’ attention: the SMK, and Rosenborg castle. Incidentally, both just happened to be very close to each other in the near center of the park. They first stopped the convoy of four vehicles –two lorries with reefer containers on their trailers and two armed unimogs- in front of the national art museum.

The structure was rather imposing from up close: a large staircase marked its entrance in the middle with its door nestled behind a line of white stone pillars which rose high above visitors. Its sturdy base supported walls made out of yellowish bricks interrupted at regular intervals by bas-reliefs inserted in the stonework. Its windows rose high and tall before trading place with a line of sculptures that connected the façade to the roof.

Just above the main door, the pillars supported an arch which had the text ‘Statens Museum for Kunst’ displayed proudly in golden letters.

Geert was pretty sure the style was neoclassical.

The scarlet macaw stepped off her struck with a barely concealed wince. Her hip may have been getting better, but that didn’t mean it was painless yet. She had traded her crutches for a walking cane (and a healthy dose of painkillers every morning too), now able to put some weight on her bad leg. The moment her feet were on the ground, she reached for a pocket in her coveralls with her free claw and stuck a cigarette in her beak.

With the amount of work they had been stuck with during the last few days, she damn well needed the nicotine.

Geert walked over to the lead truck of the convoy, the white UN unimog in which she knew the Captain was riding with Artyom and Sandra. The Captain lowered his window when he saw the parrot approach.

“Need a repeat on the plan?” Dilip asked her.

“Negative sir. My half of the convoy stays here, priority towards paintings and ancient art, non-paintings come second, last order of priority for modern art. Correct?” She asked.

“You got that right De Vries. Report via radio on your progress; warn me every time you bring back a full truck to the terminal. Copy?”

“Aye Captain.” She nodded before walking back to her truck.

Seconds later, the lead unimog and one of the lorries moved off towards the castle to scour it for important art pieces. The Captain should have an easy time figuring out what to pick with Sandra on his team working as his own personal guide.

Geert only had a guidebook to assist her. Not that finding important paintings in the country’s national art gallery should prove particularly difficult. Hell, there was even a worn out banner on the façade of the building displaying names like Picasso and Rembrandt.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Ivan approach behind her, the osprey griffon having been assigned to her team as second-in-command.

“Large museum.” She told Geert.

“Yeah we won’t be doing this in one trip for sure.” The parrot nodded. “You got someone to watch the trucks yet?”

“Engine cadet from the Rhine on overwatch in the ‘mog.” The female griffon said, pointing her talon towards a teal furred unicorn stallion on top of the truck’s cabin. “Where did you get a walking cane anyway?”

“Shat it out this morning. Hella painful.”

To say the interior of the castle surprised Dilip would have been an understatement. The Indian had allowed himself to be fooled by the seemingly simple exterior of the building that had a red brick structure supported by grey stonework all the way up to the green copper sheets of the turrets that towered above the decorative moat.

The castle was really more of a palace.

Every single square meter of its interior was richly decorated; from artfully molded ceilings that bore paintings mimicking the Sistine Chapel to tapestries hanging off the walls that must have dated back to before the rise of the Old Masters.

Honestly it was even a bit overwhelming.

With the rest of his team guarding the vehicles, the Captain had Sandra lead him and Artyom through the twisting halls of the palace. It wasn’t the batpony’s first visit of the building, and she happily chattered about the history of the palace as they walked on towards the treasury where the crown’s jewels were safely stored. They certainly wouldn’t be the only thing they brought back from the palace considering the wealth of treasures the dog could see all around him. Hell, he doubted they would be able to load everything: most of the ancient furniture and moldings would have to be left behind, maybe even the throne.

Eventually, the three of them stopped in front of a thick silvery vault door at the bottom of a staircase. Pale white LED lights illuminated the space, which, from its modern appearance, was a recent addition to the palace’s structure.

“…so they put the most valuable pieces below in this vault.” Sandra explained. “We just need to find where the panels are to open it, most likely in the upper levels above the throne room and the galleries. They’re used as storage for archives and the less impressive pieces; they weren’t open to the public. The controls ought to be around there-ish.”

“Understood. Captain, shall I go get the others to try and locate them?” Artyom asked.

Dilip idly noted how… hungrily his bosun appeared to be eyeing some of the golden decorations around the halls. He must have read the Russian’s expression wrong.

“Please do. Also start looking for anything they may have on stowage precautions, I don’t want all this to be damaged during transport.”

“Aye Captain.” The blue dragon nodded firmly before walking back towards the entrance.

Dilip turned his attention back towards the dark purple batpony that barely reached his waist in height.

“I trust someone took the time to explain you the… finer details behind our so-called art preservation initiative.”

“Sri did.” Sandra said.

“And? You know our actual intentions now. It’s not exactly something we do out of charity.”

“The motive hardly matters.” She shook her head. “Whether you’re doing it out of the kindness of your heart or for the sake of preserving your own ship, the art is still going to wind up in a secure place to survive the test of time. That is what matters.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t throw much of a fuss upon being told that.”

“Disappointed maybe.” She snorted, one ear flicking slightly. “But I’m not naïve Captain, that’s how the world goes. People donate to charities knowing they will get tax deductions, and in this case the ‘deductions’ happen to be manufactured parts. A good deed done for profit doesn’t make it a bad deed, but it does incentivize people to be good.”

Dilip raised a furry brow at her remark, but didn’t add to it.

The two of them walked back up the stairs to the gallery and milled around while the rest of the team sought how to get the vault open and started loading the first batch of tapestries in their truck. It really was a shame they couldn’t save the moldings and carved marble that decorated the halls, but such were their limitations. They could only make sure the interior of the building would last a bit longer by closing everything once they left to temporarily protect it from the weather, but that was about it. Even most of the antique furniture would have to stay behind.

“Captain, if I may ask. All the humanitarian supplies we loaded the other day, and the containers… Is there an ulterior motive behind it as well?” Sandra asked.

Dilip stopped in front of the throne, paws crossed behind his back, staring thoughtfully at the piece of furniture.

“That is correct Miss Jensen. The idea mostly came from Captain Gerig, but we want to keep the industry alive. If we can kickstart colonies with the supplies, then we can connect them to trade routes and benefit from the production surplus to keep our ships going. It really is as simple as that… as Amandine’s Captain it is my prime concern that she and her complement be kept operational. Speaking of which, I may have a job for you.”

“Do tell.” She stated calmly, trotting up to his side.

“As you and everyone in the fleet should know by now, we have gained knowledge of some colonies around the Americas. Nevertheless, I need a tech-savvy person, or mare in your case, to make use of the satellite services to locate more.”

“What kind of services are we talking about?”

“Satcom tracking, satellite pictures, and of course listening in on the radio waves. Anything that may help to locate more survivors. I trust this falls in the realm of your own faculties? Last I heard you could even overhear radio chatter with your own ears.”

“I can, indeed. Might need a proper workstation for that.”

“Just ask Schmitt for one once we get back, ok? You may even make it a fully fledged radio station as long as you don’t use the bridge’s antennas.”

“Will do Captain.” The mare nodded with a smile.

She did take the job at the radio station in Lyngby with hopes of later progressing to entertainment radio. She just might have a couple ideas for that… once they located an audience.

They eventually found how to open the vault somewhere in the upper floors. Artyom came back to them twirling a set of keys in his claws whilst the sealed vault door let out a hissing noise as the airtight room was finally opened. With a heave, the blue dragon pushed the heavy vault door inward, finally revealing the reason behind them coming to Rosenborg castle in the first place.

The room that greeted them was fairly dark, with the only light coming from LED lamps inside the reinforced display cases holding the crown’s jewels. The rest of the vault had its wall painted dark blue so that all attention would be focused on the jewels and gemstones on display. A few of the sailors that had come down to witness the opening of the vault let out impressed whistles at the sight of the gleaming stones and precious metal laid out before them.

As for Artyom and Dilip…

The moment they laid eyes on the gemstones, both felt a deep yearning well up in their head. An instinct that screamed at them to seize the stones for themselves, for their hoard. The compulsion quickly washed away their conscious mind, to be replaced by raw instinct.

Dilip’s pupils shrank down to pinpricks, muzzle parted slightly and ears raised high. Inside his head, a great battle started between the Indian’s willpower and the feral might of the instincts the transformation had imparted unto him. The beast within his mind reeled against its bonds as the Captain fell down on his knees mutely, eyes drilling holes in the crown in the center of the room. Or rather, the enormous rectangular sapphire in its headband.

Now, Dilip would never dare call himself the most pious of Hindu (curse beef for tasting so damn good), but he did keep to several practices to make up for his own downfalls. Meditating everyday in front of the altar in his quarters was one such action he had sworn himself to do. Mustering all of his mental might, the pariah dog forced himself to tear his eyes away from the sapphire and closed them. With his tail lashing wildly behind him, he started repeating a mantra under his breath.

His mind was a bulwark against which the feral force inside him crashed relentlessly in an attempt at seizing control of his body. He would not allow that, not this day, nor ever. At every utterance of the mantra, he felt the force abate slightly as the mental wall he was erecting in the confines of his being grew stronger. He shut out everything that was going on beyond his own body, vaguely hearing one sharp screeching sound before his world reduced itself to his mind and the feral dog that apparently resided deeper inside of his head.

My mind is mine, and mine alone. None shall take it away from me.

He could vaguely see it, one twisted version of his own new body circling menacingly inside of the mental prison he had just conjured, walking on all four like a savage. From time to time, the creature lashed out at its prison, testing its restraints, however unsuccessful that was. Dilip kept repeating his mantra for a few more minutes before he deemed the mental prison strong enough to withstand its assaults and allowed himself to drift back to the conscious world.

This is my head, poodle, what made you think you could barge in and take over?

His tail had gone still now, but not after brushing quite a bit of dust off the ground he noticed distastefully.

The sight that greeted him was quite chaotic. There was a broken display case in the middle of the room, bearing claw marks around the torn glass, and shards littering the floor all around it. Artyom was at its bottom, the blue dragon now laying on his back amidst the broken glass and clutching his head in pain.

For some reason, he had a gold chain poking out of the corner of his maw.

“Sitrep.” He said in as collected a manner as he could manage, slowly standing up and casually brushing off the dust on his knees.

A sphinx approached him from behind, Thanasis.

“Artyom just lost his shit the moment he saw the jewels. Rended the display case open and swallowed a necklace before Jensen here knocked him out with… some kind of sonic attack.” He explained.

“Sonic what?”

“She screeched at him so hard he collapsed, sir.”

Dilip turned an inquisitive look towards the batpony.

“Basically yeah, I just did that.” She shrugged sheepishly.

That didn’t explain magical lizards eating gemstones and precious metals, nor bipedal dogs being plagued by instinctual hoarding compulsions. Dilip just let out a tired sigh and ordered his bosun to be carted back to the trucks. Poor guy probably didn’t have the mental discipline the Captain had built over the course of hundreds of hours spent meditating every evening.

Now to correct that…

Later that day after sunset, one lone female griffon was jogging around the docks. The peregrine falcon griffon bore three violet stripes on either side of her head and had a snow leopard feline half.

To her shipmates, she was known as Anton, formerly a male Ukrainian from the Rhine’s engineering department and now a still very much pissed off female griffon. As if changing species wasn’t enough, now she had to deal with a changed gender that apparently came with changed sexuality as well. That had been particularly unpleasant to discover, and she still found herself burning through several packs of cigarettes a day to cope with it.

She had changed from the Rhine’s usual ‘uniform’ white coveralls with the green stripes to a hastily refitted black track suit (more like a regular suit with a tail hole she had torn using her claws, the result accidentally wound up a lot more form-fitting than she’d have liked). Her steel-toed boots had been left by the gangway when she exited the Rhine before she took off running along the quays.

Whether she was running to get acquainted to the still unfamiliar body or to burn off some of the stress she had built up over the course of the last week, she still had to determine. She knew she could have used the treadmill inside the barge carrier’s gym… but fresh air and a bit of solitude away from the rest of the crew couldn’t hurt.

Sharp talons clicked in tandem with the soft thud of her paws against the rough concrete of the quays as she kept running. She soon started to feel the familiar burning of exertion in her muscles as her mind automatically completed the running motion for her. She didn’t block the instinct; she just let it happen and watched her speed instantly increase. God knows how hard it would have been to achieve the simplest of tasks had they not had these when they reappeared. Most of her shipmates blocked them.

She knew better.

Her primal mind going through the motions for her allowed the griffon to slowly work her way through her issues.

Like how she kept noticing the other male griffons ogling her and her hindquarters whenever they thought she wasn’t looking. That alone would have been enough to make her blood boil, but of course she had caught herself sneaking glance at their forms in the gym, the very reason why she chose to go jog outside. The thought of her own libido being her enemy was not particularly pleasant, much less when she realized that the nudes she had of her girlfriend now completely failed to get a rise out of her.

Not that there was anything left to rise.

She could look at the face in the pictures in longing, but love? Not anymore.

With a frustrated growl, she came to a halt on the opposite side of the terminal. Water lapped softly at the quays below her, with just enough wind to ruffle her feathers softly. She plopped down on her belly and stared down at the silvery reflection of the moon against the wavelets.

Every priest she remembered from back home in Ukraine kept saying God was kindness.

She snorted.

Hard to believe. If God was kind, he had a weird way of showing it. First a war to ravage her home, then ripping away most of the world’s population, rob them of their own gender, throw some monsters in the mix and of course make sure they aren’t even human anymore.

Tough love eh.

Her musing was interrupted by two red orbs crossing her gaze. She froze instantly.

Unbeknownst to her, a foreign mind prodded her own and started digging through her own memories. The alien consciousness wrapped itself around her resentment towards both her own government and Russia’s, conjuring images from her memory of mobs going at each other over a split nation.

Anton fell unconscious. She would awaken minutes later with no memory of the event wondering why she fell asleep in the first place.

As for the creature, it sank back down below the waves with a wicked smile on its muzzle. It had just found the tool it needed to sow the seeds of chaos.

After all, sailors always had been her species’ main dish.

Author's Note

When you think about it griffons can be kind of confusing with the cat/bird thing. Hell, we can't even agree on how to spell ~~gryphon~~, ~~griffin~~, or whatever else, let alone whether a male is a drake or a tom, or a female a hen or a queen.

Personally, I'd like to think Equus would have multiple griffon cultures with different approaches to the issue depending on the region they inhabit. By which I mean, some would veer more towards feline influences, others more towards avian influences in their culture.

The ones in Griffonstone would probably be more on the avian side, which is even more influenced by the cultural impact of pegasi from Cloudsdale.

Put a griffon city-state near Abyssinia however? Or near sphinxes? Bam, feline-influenced culture.

Anyway folks, catch you next week for a big turn of events.

Chapter 31: Still Not a Tank

The province of Sweden that was connected to Copenhagen by the tunnel was known as Skåne (or just Scania in English) county. It was the southernmost of all provinces in the country, and also used to be one of the most heavily populated before the Event struck. Its location at the very south of the country made it the de-facto breadbasket of the entire country, and it showed to the convoy of trucks now headed for the base Micha’s team had located two days earlier near a town called Revingehed.

Fields and meadows were what greeted them when they left the direct vicinity of Malmo, some having already been seeded prior to their farmers disappearing. The area was rather flat, with only a couple gently sloped hills that rose above the rest of the plains. They could see a couple copses of trees here and there, mostly present around abandoned farmsteads and villages. The only activity they detected for the entirety of the trip were herds of roaming cattle that gave them a wide berth and only resumed their grazing once the loud vehicles left the area. The bulls in particular eyed them warily as they posted themselves as a screen between the large trucks and the vulnerable herds behind them.

Honestly, how cows would fare after the Event was a coin toss. They were pretty big mammals to begin with and thus would not have many predators… but several breeds could not reproduce without veterinarian assistance anymore. None of them knew whether the Swedish breed they crossed path with was such a case, and only time would tell whether the herds would thrive or dwindle away if the cows started dying giving birth to their calves.

They carried on along the highway until they eventually had to veer off the three-lane road and dive deeper into the countryside. The base they were aiming for was in the very center of the province, and the military owning the land there was probably the only reason for the presence of woods instead of fields in the area.

The forest around them didn’t even appear particularly ancient: it was mostly made up of birches, with the odd grove of willows or pines in-between, each tree separated by a reasonable distance from the others that allowed for good visibility. Yellowish grass grew high between the trees, along with tall ferns and nettle bushes, all that shrubbery easily tall enough to swallow quadruped species with the obvious exception of centaurs… which they hadn’t brought along on that expedition anyway.

A couple small wooden houses and cabins occupied small plots of land along the road to the base, their small lawns now in the process of being invaded by the surrounding forest. Their presence on what must have been military grounds would have seemed odd had it not been for the flagpoles on their porches bearing the Swedish colors. The flags had been left hanging there for so long now that they were tattered and heavily discolored, though still recognizable.

The group accompanying the convoy was actually fairly big by their standards. There were eight of them on that expedition, led by Rhine Forest’s Third Officer, Josselin. The French unicorn was riding in a unimog leading the way ahead of them, the vehicle being followed by one lorry with an empty trailer, and a Defender 90 trailing close behind to cover their rear.

Next to Josselin, in the seat underneath the turret, Bart accompanied the group. The stallion was quickly reviewing a short list of Swedish words he felt like might be useful on that trip like ‘gevär’, ‘vapen’ or ‘vakpost’. He was officially cleared of any medical issue now, and had thus been ordered to watch over Josselin’s back for the expedition.

His military experience should also prove useful to locate the armory, at least if he was correct in thinking there wouldn’t be too much difference from one NATO base to another.

Nikolaos was the one behind the wheel. The addition of the minotaur cow to their team composition turned out to be a wise choice when they finally reached the base proper. She literally ripped the gate open using the impressive strength her transformation had bestowed upon her. Angry as she was to have been turned into a female, she still had the benefit of size and strength to console herself.

A size advantage that was all too easy to notice when compared to the two unicorns she shared the unimog with. She was easily three times as tall as the tiny equines! With a snort, she casually tossed the broken and bent gate out of the way before walking back towards the convoy without a word.

With a brief word over the radio, Josselin had them drive the trucks to the base’s parade ground.

This was the center point of the base, a rectangular gravel-covered parade ground with buildings all around. As they dismounted, all eight of them could see the command staff’s offices in direct view of their vehicles next to a row of flagpoles. The relatively simply designed three-story tall structure was the highest building around, with the rest of the barracks never exceeding the two-story mark.

“Alright folks, time to split up and locate this armory.” Josselin said, trotting to the front of his gathered team. “I will be exploring the command building over there with Niko and Bart.” He said before lifting his carbine in his telekinesis and chambering a round, just in case. “Cadets, you two will be keeping an eye on the vehicles. Roger?”

“Aye sir.” Frederik and Carla both spoke up in chorus.

The hippogriffs were armed with the same suppressed MP5’s Frederik had been stuck with on the expedition to Malmo. Fred was actually the only one of the two to have volunteered to go on that expedition, Carla would have much rather stayed on the Rhine to keep working on getting Seb to socialize. As successful as the girl-turned-hippogriff-stallion had been at mending his relationship with the unicorn mare, he still had a hard time getting her to leave her cabin for extended periods of time save for visits to the infirmary. He had little to no doubt that the genderswapped unicorn would be hunkered down in her cabin by the time he got back.

He might have to ask Doc Delacroix for tips… when she wasn’t otherwise busy training Amandine’s Medical Officer.

“Sri, Anton, Thanasis…” Josselin turned to the other three sailors on the team. “You get to the other side of the base. I think I saw a couple warehouses there by the hangar buildings, so this might be where they put the armory for all we know. Try to find where they put the ammo too if you can, but no big deal if you don’t.”

The three of them responded with a curt nod before immediately setting off towards their objective. Josselin watched them leave before motioning for his own team to follow with a hoof.

That left the two cadets on their own in the middle of the parade ground.

Watching the trucks.

And all in all doing jack shit.

“You know I expected to actually get to do… more than that.” Fred commented idly as he sat down in the shadow of the lorry.

Sweden might be a Northern country, but that didn’t mean it was cold all the time. Summer was still summer, and the German cadet wouldn’t be surprised if the temperature managed to breach the twenty degrees by noon. Not much of a problem in normal circumstances, but with his yellow, highly insulating coat of fur and feathers? He could already feel the sweat building up.

“And what did you expect then?” Carla fired back before taking a seat next to the other hippogriff.

“Actually get to look for the stuff. I mean, I helped find the base in the first place when I went to Malmo.” He shrugged. “Thought my help would be valued more than just for watching the trucks.”

“Eh, on the bright side we get to lounge in the shade while they try to figure out Swedish military jargon.” Carla said. “Try to enjoy the moment, or do I need to remind you how the others are probably busting their backs in Copenhagen?”

“Except for Seb.”

“She’s injured, that’s different.” He pointed out.

“Is she?” Fred turned his head towards the other cadet. “I swear, that’s hard to notice considering how little your boy -sorry- girlfriend comes out of her cabin.”

“Is that an accusation?” Carla raised a brow at the jab.

“Just stating the facts is all. And yet you keep saying you’re trying to help her.” Fred said as he brushed his talons through his blue crest feathers.

“Which I’m doing.”

“For all the good that seems to do.” Fred snorted.

“I’m trying to take it slow with her…”

“Not all of us got to take it slowly last I checked. Captain Gerig’s pretty much in the same predicament as Seb’, if not worse, but I don’t see her hiding in her quarters because of that.”

“She changed from being built like an athlete to being a tiny Technicolor mare; she’s not hurting anybody by using her medical leave to stay in her cabin! You got to keep your gender and your hands.” Carla protested out loud. “I barely managed to mend things with her, so I’m sorry if I’m taking it slow so she doesn’t clam up on me, damn it.”

“And did it ever cross your mind that it would piss several people off that she’d get to mope inside her cabin while the rest of us have to actually work?”

“Let me repeat myself: she’s injured anyway, badly should I add. She can barely walk back and forth between her cabin and the infirmary, and I even have to help her up the stairs to the mess hall. The fuck do you think she could even do in that state?”

“Something! I don’t care what, update the charts, fill in some paperwork, anything! The welders alone are clocking thrice as many hours as usual.”

Carla glared at the other hippogriff.

“And why do you even care? Maybe you wanted to have your side torn open and half your bloodstream emptied, uh? For fuck’s sake, she’s not even the only injured that’s not working! Marta’s off duty as well, or did you miss the bipedal hedgehog nurse in a wheelchair?”

“Fuck you.” Fred said, snapping his beak.

“Try to come up with some actual arguments to back up your bitching next time, asshole.” Carla told the German with a sharp glare.

“I’ll remember that…” He clicked his beak. “… Carl.”

There was one sucker punch he didn’t see coming that day.

Turns out, the base they were in apparently belonged to an armored unit. How did they figure it out? Well, the tanks and IFV’s inside the numerous hangars in the part of the base they were exploring were one thing.

And that one thing appeared to have drawn the attention of Anton in particular.

“We don’t even need tanks.” Sri groaned.

“That’s not a tank.” Anton said from her position atop one of the several CV90’s inside the hangar they were in. “It’s an IFV.”

The CV90 was Sweden’s own homegrown brand of IFV, one specifically designed to operate in the country’s subarctic climate. The snow leopard griffon was sitting atop the heavily angled front plating of the armored vehicle, a frontal structure that was reinforced with enough composite plating to resist anything short of an actual tank shot.

And anything that got through would have to get through the engine block before it could actually threaten the crew anyway. The Swedes had a habit of favoring heavily armored vehicles, and this one didn’t stray far away from the doctrine.

Behind Anton was a very large turret (for an IFV that is) built slightly off-center of the vehicle. It housed the gun… and that gun really was nothing to scoff at. While many countries saw fit to equip their IFV’s with autocannons ranging anywhere from 20 to 35mm… the CV90 went even further by being armed with a much bigger 40mm Bofors gun. The very same flak gun that had been in service all around the globe for the last fifty years, proving its effectiveness several times over. It also had a coaxial machinegun and a remotely operated gun for the commander on top of the turret, but those 7.62 paled in comparison to the main gun.

“Doesn’t change my point.” Sri insisted. “We already have the Piranhas from Slagelse anyway. What would this bring us?”

“A big ass gun? The ability to go over 80 kilometers an hour cross-country? Or to sit inside and laugh at puny monsters clawing helplessly at the composite plating as you run them over? Come on, I could have asked for the actual tanks…” She waved a claw towards the row of Leopard 2 MBT’s in another hangar. “… but this one can actually carry stuff. Very safely at that, unless wood hounds can somehow use RPG’s and even then I’m pretty sure this thing isn’t scared of that.”

Sri rolled her eyes before turning towards Thanasis and giving him a pointed look.

“What?” The sphinx looked at her quizzically.

“Three of us. I don’t want it, she does. You get to pick whether or not I will have to explain why we came back with a tank and not just guns.”

The Greek glanced alternately between the widely-grinning Anton atop the IFV and the frowning face of his hippogriff colleague.

“Well…” He said slowly, rolling his head and shaking his mane. “It does look kinda cool.”

“You’re in your forties!” Sri cried out.

The sphinx just shrugged with his wings.

“Call it a midlife crisis then. I’ve never been inside a tank.”

“Fine, be that way.” Sri sighed. “But you get to look for the parts, manuals, ammo, and you find a trailer for the tank. I’m not doing any of that shit for you two.”

And thus, the vehicle fleet found a new addition to its roster in the way of a heavily armed, heavily armored Swedish battle taxi.

Still not a tank though…

Kids can be pretty sneaky when they want to.

She didn’t know when exactly, but the chick had slipped past Micha at some point during the day. She thought she could afford to have her play behind her inside her cabin while she worked on some papers at her desk.

Obviously, she couldn’t. Andy must have grown tired of the toys the Pole had found for her and had wandered off without her noticing. She was so encapsulated by her work on safety assessments and training preparations that the child had actually managed to leave using the door that was right next to her.

Talk about obliviousness.

It was only when she reached for her printer that she noticed the absence of noise behind her and the open door. Much swearing and running ensued, Micha quickly leaving her cabin to track down the bloody kid.

Not that she disliked her. Far from it. Andy was actually a pretty sweet kid that liked hers and Vadim’s company it seemed. The Ukrainian had been a bit concerned when she told him Andy had apparently eaten a pigeon back in Malmo, but she didn’t seem to have gotten any illness from the flying rat.

Technically Andy had her own cabin on board, and this was the first place Micha went to check. Maybe she had gone back there to get one of her toys… Or not. The small cabin was empty. Not even a week since she had taken the kid under her wing and she had already lost her inside a merchant vessel that was littered with potentially hazardous machinery. Fan-fucking-tastic.

Micha hurried along and scoured every single open compartment she came across in an attempt to find the runaway child. A couple sailors looked at her worriedly as she passed them in a hurry, but she didn’t take the time to stop and explain.

She eventually managed to find Andy inside the galley, the smell of food most likely having drawn the kid there. Hell, even then Micha could feel the smell of fresh bread and spices that permeated the air around the room.

Amandine’s galley was decently sized by merchant vessel standards. Its interior was nearly entirely covered in stainless steel save for the threaded aluminum plates on the floor that dipped slightly towards a gutter that ran all the way around the island occupying the center of the room. Pots and pans hung off racks above the island where Micha was pretty sure a large pot of soup was currently cooking.

Beside the door she had taken, there was also one that connected directly to a narrow corridor from which she knew the cooks could access the utility lift as well as the pantry and the walk-in refrigerator in which they stored part of their food supply. Another opening on the opposite side connected to the buffet and the cafeteria.

And amidst all that, Andy was comfortably sitting on her haunches in a chair watching Rahul go about his day preparing dinner for the evening. She even had a small loaf of bread in her claw, from which she was nibbling intermittently as the Chief Cook babbled on, describing what he was doing to the kid behind him. Rahul was wearing a white apron above his coveralls, as well a hair cap around his head and some white gloves.

“Rahul?” Micha interrupted him politely.

The black lab of a dog lifted his head slightly to acknowledge her before turning back to his soup as he dumped a couple sliced onions in the pot.

“Well hello there Officer. I suppose you’re there for the lil’catbird behind me? Good listener she is, that much I can tell.” The dog said, a small smile parting his muzzle.

“I’m so sorry, I just lost sight of her for a second and she was gone. I hope she didn’t bother you?”

“Don’t you worry.” Rahul waved off her concern with a flick of his paw. “Kid was just hungry, gave her some bread and bacon and then she’s the quietest kid I ever laid eyes on. That’s coming from a dad of four by the way. Vadim’s back there in the cafeteria peeling ‘tatoes anyway.”

She allowed herself to fall down on her haunches and let out a relieved sigh.

“God I was so worried for a moment. So many ways this could have gone badly…”

“Doubt it.” Rahul quipped. “Kid’s way too small to work the latch on the watertight doors that lead out of the accommodation, and anything dangerous in here is locked anyway. It’s not like she can go that far, much less wander off to somewhere like the engine room. Not without someone letting her out in any case.”

“I uh… didn’t actually think of that.” She glanced towards Andy who just returned the stare with her curiosity-filled eyes. “She is quite small…”

“I really doubt you can keep a kid that age locked up in her cabin anyway. No idea what age she is, but with a human kid I’d say it’s around the time they start roaming about.” He shrugged. “Take my youngest daughter back home, when she was four she somehow managed to sneak away and wander off to another neighborhood a whole two kilometers away ‘cause she wanted to see her uncle. Shame I wasn’t there uh…” He chuckled. “The face Sarita had on Skype I swear.”

“You miss them?” Micha cocked her head.

“They will be fine. Youngest one was seventeen now, and I know with the way my wife raised them they’ll know what to do when they reappear. It’s not like I can do anything about it anyway. Half a world away and they may not even be there yet.”

“You’re rather carefree about it…”

“It’s just not my type to worry too much. Not about things I have no input on anyway.” The bipedal black lab tossed a couple sliced vegetables in the cooking pot. “I just let it happen and see how I can make do.”

“Wish I could share the philosophy.” Micha shook her head as she walked up to Andy and ruffled her head feathers. “Gave me quite a scare you know kid?”

The griffon cub just chirped happily back at her.

“Eh Rahul, say… what’s with Vadim peeling potatoes anyway? You never use the stock unless it’s about to go bad, and we resupplied before the Event if memory serves.”

“Nguyen’s idea. You know the French MRE’s we have for those long expeditions?”

She nodded.

“Well, kitten was a bit peeved at being shown up by MRE food, so he took to actually reading some of the cook books we have. What would you know, now he wants to do something other than Asian food.”

“And it’s helped by Vadim and I being stuck on kitchen assistance for the foreseeable future. You got your potato peelers.” Micha rolled her eyes.

“Mayhaps.” The dog clicked his tongue. “On the bright side, you sneaking behind the Captain’s back to fly around brought us goulash. If the reactions to the menu I hung in the cafeteria during breakfast are to be believed, the crew may actually like that.”

Micha tilted her head.

“Why do I have this feeling of dread at the prospect of you two making an attempt at Western cooking?”

“Eh, blame Nguyen for the dubious spice choices, not me. I cook the strong stuff, not the weird one.” The black lab protested as he reached for a soup blender. “I actually remembered to take the lemons away before he got his paws on them this time.”

“That’s a relief… I guess.” She said.

There was an awkward pause that lasted for a few seconds before Rahul spoke up again.

“That’s a really good thing you’re doing for her you know.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Andy I mean. You looking almost identical to her is a plus but… consider the amount of children that will go unattended with the Event. Any that gets help, or even surrogate parents to keep an eye on them, is a blessing in my books.” He shook his head, shoulders sagging. “Knowing the sheer quantity of kids that had parents but will be condemned to become street urchins because of this… that’s just heartbreaking. I know we can’t help them all…. But I’m glad to be working under an Officer that’s willing to take one under her wing… Kinda literally in your case.”

“Thanks I guess… you know, there are many things we can’t help with in this situation… but you’ve heard the ideas that have floated around as of recently. We’re going to do our best to give people something to return to. Won’t be much, but you can be sure we’ll all do our best to prop up civilization.”

“A tall order for a small group like us.” Rahul commented before reaching inside a drawer with his paw. “Potato peeler, you know what to do.”

Talk about a callback to her time as a cadet. In all her time as an Officer she never had to lend a hand to the kitchen staff. She grabbed the peeler from Rahul’s paw and moved off to the cafeteria where Vadim was peeling potatoes to the tune of some classical music. Andy gingerly followed her, the child’s head starting to bob up and down as she heard the tune coming out of Vadim’s loudspeaker.

“Welcome to potato duty, hope you don’t mind the music.” Vadim said in Polish as he pushed the large bag of unpeeled vegetables he was going through towards her. Andy sauntered over to him and the Ukrainian gingerly ruffled her head feathers. “How’s the safety analysis anyway?”

“For all intents and purposes, it’s complete. Kid had me stop before the end when she snuck away… somehow.”

“Never had to deal with young children have you, uh?” He asked, pulling Andy on his lap and tickling her under her wings. The girl let out a happy laugh before jumping on the table to lay on her belly between the two older griffons.

“Because you have?”

“Sorta. I am… was the oldest of three siblings. Mother always used to ask me to keep an eye on them when she had to work in the evenings. Kids that age…” He eyed Andy who was poking the bag of potatoes with a talon. “Well, not that I know your age kid, but close enough. Anyway, at that age I’d say you either need to keep their attention solely on something so they don’t wander off, or you do something that doesn’t require all your attention so you spot them when they do wander off.”

“I’ll try to remember that. Doesn’t it feel weird to you?” She asked.

“What does?”

“That we… sorta wound up adopting a kid a mere days after getting together.”

“Not really. Kid’s better off being placed under the care of a couple, and she fits better with us than with Danny and Carlos don’t you think? I’ll admit… the resemblance is uncanny.” He took a look at Andy who just blinked back at him before letting out a yawn and resting her small head on her forearms. “You finding a child that just happens to share the same species as us two… I’ve been questioning whether or not higher powers are at hand with this whole stuff…”

“Superstitious now?”

“Just reading the patterns is all.” Vadim shrugged. “In these times it may not actually turn out to be as dumb as it sounds.”

Elsewhere on the ship, a blue dragon was seen stalking through the passageways of the accommodation. He had finally managed to free some time from his busy schedule, and there was one thing he knew needed to be done.

Rounding a corner, Artyom eventually came to a halt in front of cabin he knew belonged to Sri, at the very end of the passageway. At this hour the hippogriff ought to be back from whatever duty she had been assigned to if he remembered correctly.

Probably keeping watch on a checkpoint around the terminal.

He knocked.

There was some muted shuffling behind the door for a few seconds before his ears caught the soft clicking of the lock being turned and the door opened to reveal a somewhat damp Sri clad in a large t-shirt and sport shorts. The Indonesian veteran looked up at her friend with a flat look.

“Problem?” She slurred.

Well, the smell of alcohol for one. Last he remembered the Indonesian wasn’t one to drink on her own. A few beers to chat around during the evening? Sure. But the liquor he was smelling on her? That was a first.

“I don’t have a problem. You on the other claw…” The dragon crossed his arms. “… Christ’s sake Sri, I thought we were through with that already. What’s wrong?”

The female hippogriff stared vacantly ahead of her as she leaned against the doorframe.

“Wrong? Fucking everything is.” She said. “That’s all because of that thing the Captain agreed to with the pronouns.” She complained. She ruffled her wings in frustration, which only served to stretch the fabric of her t-shirt.

“Basically every single genderswapped crewmember is, I don’t see the difference with you.” Vadim honestly shrugged.

“’course you wouldn’t.” She slurred before retreating further inside her cabin to grab a half-empty bottle of rum, Artyom following her at a safe distance and closing the door behind him. “I was just getting used to the whole deal; ignore the part where I lost my dick and everyone treats me like usual. That I could live with… somewhat. But now?” She took an awkward swig from the bottle with some drops of the liquid dripping off the sides off her beak. “Talk about getting your beak shoved into your own shit. Oh Sri, you want to try and ignore the fact some weird-ass cosmic event took your dick? Lemme issue an order that pushed the exact fucking opposite, that’ll be great!” She cried out.

“Come on, I doubt he did that to spite you. It’s really just about being practical.” Artyom tried.

The blue scaled dragon discreetly took note of the several discarded bottles that littered the room. That might explain why they hadn’t seen much of her ever since Dilip announced the new pronoun dynamic.

“Screw being practical, I had a plan figured out and he ruined it.” The drunken hippogriff lamented before she flopped down on her bed. “As if that shit wasn’t hard enough to deal with in the first place.”

“Somehow, I doubt alcohol is the proper response to that problem.” He said, leaning against the wall by the bed. “I should know, what with how I ended up after Grozny.”

“Last I checked Chechens didn’t go around calling paratroopers Miss… then again that would have been pretty funny.” She chuckled. “You never really talk about what you did there.”

“There’s nothing worth talking about ’95.” Artyom shook his head with a frown. “Only misery, and much as I like my drinks, I know they never actually helped with the coping. I very much doubt this would change for a light drinker like you. It’s not a path you wanna go down, trust me. Unless you’d like to end up like those drunken vets living off the streets?”

“Suuuure, tell me off for trying to find a solution but don’t offer one.” She glared at him. “I’ve become a mockery of my own beliefs Artyom! A monstrous creature riddled with occult magic or whatever, and I don’t even know what I should be attracted to dammit!”

Artyom just took it in stride and raised an eyeridge at her.

“So that’s about religion now?” He asked. “You know… with our standards on board I’m surprised you’d actually have problems with that.”

“Contrarily to you I have calms about the things I do! I know I’m a bad follower…” She slumped. “Fuck’s sake, I might be the worst Muslim the world has ever seen. I drink, I don’t do Ramadan, eat bacon of all things… Doesn’t mean I don’t feel guilty ‘bout it you know? I try to make up for it; I pray err… sometimes… Well, I try to be a good guy. That’s what religion is all about right?” She asked him drunkenly.

“I wouldn’t know.” Artyom admitted. “I’m Orthodox in name only pal, haven’t opened a Bible in half a decade or so. That’s just too much of a hassle with all the work piling up. But if you really want my grain of salt on the matter… then I really doubt any religion had predicted this fuckery. Don’t expect any holy book to tell you what’s wrong and what’s right.”

“Sure helps a lot…”

“I’m no theologist, but if your ideology tells you you’re a bad person because of something that’s out of your control, then you should probably revise it.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s heresy Art’.”

“Maybe it is. Hell, go wear a headscarf if it makes you feel better, whatever suits you. And the sexuality matters? Can’t say I have it figured out… but if you’re still into women, or mares in your case I guess? Regardless, then you were that way in the beginning, so no big deal and it’s not really gay. And if you’re more into males after the change…” He shrugged. “Ain’t a big deal either, that’s just regular biology at work.”

“Now you’re just doing mental gymnastics to avoid laying blame on anyone.” She told him with a nonplussed look on her features. She stopped to down the rest of her bottle in one go, her motions haphazard from the alcohol in her bloodstream, some drops of rum accidentally landing on the bed sheets beneath her.

“So what if I am? The situation keeps me busy enough that I don’t want to start hating anyone for something they can’t control.” He said. “Don’t get me wrong, if anyone is going to start wearing rainbow-colored leathers or gimp shit, then I got one hell of an ass whooping in store for them… but that’s beside the point.”

“And what is your point exactly?” She asked, one claw blindly exploring the side of her bed in search of another bottle.

“That you shouldn’t get hung up on your ideology not fitting anymore because it sure as hell wasn’t made with any kind of foresight for cosmically-induced gender changes. Try to adapt it however you wish to… but no priest or imam could have ever forecast such a thing.” He said, rubbing his neck thoughtfully. “In any case, who’s ever going to blame you? The only other Muslim on board is Mohammed and if anything, he’s got a worse track record than you as far as piety goes.”

Sri’s claw halted for a second.

“I’ll uh… I’ll consider it okay?” She said.

Artyom knelt down by her bedside.

“Yeah, you’d better.” A small smile appeared on the edges of the dragon’s maw as his claw flew towards something outside of Sri’s vision. “I’m taking this by the way, alcohol really doesn’t suit you.” He told her, lifting up her last bottle of liquor.

“Art’ you fucking prick…” Sri grumbled.

“Compared to what I’ve been called in the past that’s rather mild.” He replied, already walking towards the door. “Sleep off the booze, tomorrow I’m taking you jogging for a good purging.” He concluded before leaving the cabin.

Sri just stared off emptily towards the spot the dragon previously occupied before a nauseous feeling welled up in her throat and she ran for the bathroom.

Yeah, she really should stick to the odd beer.

Up in her cabin, an orange dragon was pouring over the documents her fellow shipmates had obtained from the Maersk’s headquarters. Schmitt was still busy researching how to ‘fix’ spoiled fuel oil in the near future.

Maersk did have an offshore department, and she could easily find information on oil reconditioning inside their archives. Most of the processes she found documents on were about getting the right grade of lube or hydraulic oil, but she was confident applying it to fuel would pose little trouble.

Leaving oil in storage for a long time came with its own set of problems. Deposits formed inside, rust from the tank, wax, soot, and other kinds of particles that would clog up and foul engine filters. Granted, regular filters could protect the engine from bad fuel but only to a certain extent, but the months (if not years) of spoilage she was looking at were something no filter no matter the quality could circumvent.

And then of course was the matter of water accumulation which required its own step in the filtration process. It needed to be removed from the mixture before it could be pumped into an engine.

She grumbled and twirled a pencil in her claws before pulling out a sheet of paper and writing down what she had figured out so far.

· Water→ Hydrophobic filter
· Solid deposits→ Dissolvent +Mechanical filtration
· Microbial organisms → Biocides

She stopped at that line. There was no filtration system she could think of that would work on every batch of fouled oil they would find. Microbial infestations and deposits tended to vary and needed different substances to be removed properly. Maybe… she could design those filtration stages with a more modular system. That meant they would have to test each batch of spoiled oil they retrieved but it shouldn’t be too much trouble as long as they kept to large batches. How large exactly would depend on how quick she could test samples, but on a guess she wrote down at least a hundred tons.

But the reconditioning systems the documents showed her weren’t meant to be used on large quantities. She could see designs for hydraulic and lube oil, or even for diesel on small, trawler-sized boats, not for the amounts of fuel Amandine’s engine and generators chugged daily.

Schmitt’s claw went for a drawer in her desk and pulled out a used screwdriver covered in bite marks. That was the third one in two weeks she found herself chewing on to soothe her nerves. How her stomach was able to process bits of metal, she had no idea.

Chrome-plated tools did taste quite good though.

Back to the fuel filtration… She pulled out a blueprint showing a fuel reconditioning unit out of a folder, which she set down next to one of a fuel polishing unit meant for boats.

“Ok, so here, there, and there I got the different stages…” She whispered in Luxembourgish. “With that one I get 50 liters per hour, but the other one is at 600…”

Now she just had to upscale the whole design to the point where it could operate in tens of tons per hour, make it versatile enough to work both for lube and fuel, and make sure it would work every time regardless of spoiling level and different microbial infestations.

Easy peasy lemon squeezy.

Might need a few more screwdrivers to chew on though.

Thousands of miles east of Copenhagen, the sun was just about to rise on Japan, though this would have been rather hard to notice for the Kirin that was currently navigating his way through the Aokigahara, or Suicide Forest as it was known worldwide. Its thick canopy prevented the nascent rays of light from reaching the ground of dried leaves and twisting roots. Many fallen trees and branches littered the uneven, rocky floor of the forest through which dirt tracks carved a sinuous path. The combination of rocks and roots created a mess of a terrain with hundreds of nooks and crannies, some even hidden by moss and vines that basically turned them into small pitfall traps. All in all, this made it hard to safely navigate the bleak forest, particularly with the darkness that came before sunrise.

Hayate didn’t mind. The last month had made him well-acquainted with the dreary forest and he knew that if he wanted to do anything in the early morning it had to be before sunrise otherwise he would once again get lost in the thick fog banks that came in the morning. That and the young Kirin had recently learned how to use his antler to create light.

A whole month. Hayate could hardly believe it was that long already… his former life in Nagoya felt so far away now. A month ago he had been on a trip to the famed forest with his friends. He recalled his girlfriend calling him to take a look at some patches of flowers around a bend further down the hiking path they were following when all of a sudden…

He was alone.

He had fallen down, lost consciousness it had seemed. It had been noon, but he woke up in the evening, with all of his friends gone and the forest silent. His body had changed too, into something he would later recognize as the Kirin of legend when he got a look at himself in a puddle. For hours, he had called after his friends and wandered through the forest, losing his bearings and belongings in the process, unable to use his phone with his hooves. He had soon lost track of where he had gone, trotting on unsteady hooves through the gloomy forest for what felt like days, now left naked after an unfortunate wild bathing incident involving an underground river.

And then, when he felt like he couldn’t take it anymore; that lifting his newly-made hoof one more time would sap him of what little energy he had left, the spirits had appeared.

Well, he still wasn’t too sure if they were spirits, but when he had stopped by a spring to drink some water (at this point he was well past caring whether or not it was sanitary) he had caught sight of a small, icy blue wisp on the opposite side of the little pond. The little floating flame danced teasingly in front of him for a couple minutes before it floated away deeper into the forest.

Of course he had followed it. What else could he do at that point? The young Kirin had galloped across the surface of the pond (somehow, he had discovered he could walk on water at some point) and followed it eagerly. The little blue flame led him through thick shrubbery and numerous fog banks; Hayate completely ignoring the water clinging to the jade-colored scales on his back or the twigs catching on his mane; before he eventually started hearing the sound of running water.

A small stone bridge arching above a brook, with most of the stonework now covered in moss and lichen. That’s what the wisp led him to. It floated inside of a tall stone lantern… and then a path of those same lanterns lit up, each with a little wisp inside it, each its own unique color. Hayate decided to trust the spirits and followed the path they showed him.

Less than a hundred meters down the dirt path, a red torii rose up above him, the gate marking the entrance to a shrine in the middle of the forest. Further down the path, he was able to spot the red painted wood of the shrine with its moss covered shingles. Wisps of all colors of the rainbow floated around him as he explored the place, with its small graveyard for former kannushis, the main building with the altar and a single bedroom above it, and even a small lawn with benches for hikers. It was there that he finally located an abandoned cool box with enough food to sate his hunger.

But still no traces of anybody beside him. Hayate spared a bit of the food he found to make an offering to the spirits at the altar and thank them for their guidance. That day, he finally managed to rest in an actual bed in the bedroom above the shrine, the small room’s sole window giving the Kirin a perfect view of Mount Fuji above the forest’s canopy.

The spiritual guidance wasn’t a onetime thing it turned out. Over the course of a few days, which quickly lapsed into weeks, Hayate relied on the little flames to guide him through the forest. Sometimes he returned to that first shrine (each time either with an offering or to maintain it as a form of paying respects to his new guides); sometimes he found others, but always within the boundaries of the forest. There was plenty of food to be found in the ranger outposts or any of the multiple facilities built for tourists… actually he even managed to live off the land for a whole week under the guidance of one sparkly green wisp before he eventually reached a stash of canned food the forest’s rangers had hidden in a cave.

Life inside the forest was harsh, and with few luxuries… but he couldn’t return to the urban areas.

He had tried once. That mistake had almost cost him his life. The first hour in the city had been great, and he had managed to get a fair amount of supplies for his backpack (by then, the only item he had on him except for a red headband, clothes being somewhat redundant). But then…

Monsters.

Brightly colored porcupine creatures, they threw their quills at him; it was only thanks to the wisps that he managed to elude them long enough to return to the safety of the forest. That visit taught him a lot.

Cities were dangerous; monsters were roaming around.

The forest is safe; he had a deal with the spirits.

And he was alone.

That day, the young Kirin had dejectedly trotted back to his shrine, muzzle held low to the ground. Even the discovery of his ability to do telekinesis using his antler didn’t raise his mood and he went to sulking inside the shrine’s bedroom after making his daily offering.

Every night, the wisps would gather near the altar to consume the food. Hayate never dared to look… he was smart enough to know he shouldn’t.

That brought him back to the now. Hayate was walking down a path covered in fallen leaves and branches that should lead him to a new shrine. A pinkish wisp floated some ways ahead of him. Wisps tended to come and go but that one seemed to hang around him a lot.

He had decided to call it Sakura. The wisp didn’t seem offended by the name so it kind of stuck.

He managed to reach the shrine on the south-eastern edge of the forest before the fog rose up. Hayate had a quick breakfast of canned fish before he set to cleaning the shrine of its moss and weeding the gardens. Multiple wisps seemed to gather around him, coming and going to observe him as he tended to their holy residence.

But everything has to go wrong at some point, right?

Just as he clambered on the rooftop to clean it and remove the moss, the Kirin spotted a speck of dark red light which made a stark contrast with the blue sky. It appeared right above the Mount Fuji’s caldera.

Hayate quickly used his telekinesis to get a hold of some binoculars he had retrieved a week earlier from a ranger post.

The red light was… some sort of swirling mass of lightning. It twisted and turned high above the caldera, with arcs of lightning periodically striking down and kicking up plumes of smoke. It took minutes of observation for the lightning to start forming a distinct shape… something akin to Satanic demonic circles, though Hayate was no expert. A sense of foreboding rose up in the Kirin’s throat, though he elected to stay on the rooftop and keep observing. The wisps around him were starting to flickers alarmingly and fly around in a seemingly panicked state. Even Sakura somehow found refuge in his mane amidst the confusion running rampant in the shrine.

The circle eventually ceased its motions and stabilized. Its size must have spun the entire diameter of the caldera and the lightning that made out its limits created a low droning noise strong enough that Hayate could still perceive it despite the sheer distance that separated him from Mount Fuji.

All of a sudden, the air in the center of the circle turned pitch black. Not just a circle then… a portal. The droning noise disappeared at once, the forest stood still in anticipation. Moments later, Hayate witnessed in horror as a gigantic tentacle emerged out of the portal. The entire appendage was encrusted in black crystals and must have been as big as a freight train… and it was soon followed by more of them which could only belong to the likes of the worst of horrors to ever escape the mind of H.P. Lovecraft. Once its limbs were through the portal, whatever otherworldly creature they belonged to pulled and fell out of the portal with an earthshaking rumble that managed to knock over a few lamps in the shrine. The monstrous creature fell out of sight below the lip of the caldera as the portal slowly faded away, but Hayate still managed to spot four equine shaped silhouettes exit it before it closed off completely. Two with wings, one with a horn, and another that was just enormous, all standing in a circle atop a flying obsidian platform.

Hayate took off to the relative safety of the forest when he saw the horned shape look straight at him with pitch black eyes.

The horned equine just smiled, revealing a mouth full of black crystalline fangs. It always liked a good chase. It just might stay here for a while… Its horn lit up with red lightning.

The other three equines just departed in different directions.

The Kirin didn’t last long.

The portal in Japan wasn’t the only one to open that day. Another one of similar size opened just above Cape Horn at about the same time, disgorging another lovecraftian horror and a couple silhouettes before closing off. Just like in Japan, they split up in different directions, though in their case the black crystals and red lightning were replaced by sickly yellowish lightning and black tendrils of goop.

Several smaller such portals opened up all over the world as well. Some had witnesses like Hayate to spot their appearance, other went completely unnoticed, but in all cases at least one creature poured out of them before they closed off.

At one point above the Southern Atlantic, one such portal opened up to let an airship through. Any Equestrian pony would have been able to tell at a glance that it was actually a Storm Airship, one of the many military-class airships that had been built to serve the now dead tyrant known as the Storm King. Many of these had eventually fallen into the paws, claws or hooves of criminals, warlords and terrorists.

The old but heavily modified craft came to a rest high above the waves. At a glance, it was visible that the usual propellers of the old vessel had been replaced with shoddy looking thrusters, and that it bore a lot more weaponry along its hull than any airship of the same class ever had. There were also many black tendrils that wrapped around its hull and gas bag, like an infection of sorts. Its crew was no better, many of them being parrots that missed clumps of feathers and bore the same signs of the goop beneath their plumage. Other crewmembers, some grey hedgehog-esque creatures were missing quills or patches of fur and shambled around the deck with vacant eyes, their mouth dripping the same goop that infected the parrots.

Within minutes, the airship turned south and powered away from its initial position. Black storm clouds started to seep away from the gasbag and began to form a storm front with arcs of electricity going through them.

Author's Note

I've been in a writing frenzy recently to build up some buffer chapters in case I hit a writing block at some point. That should allow me up to one month of regular posting with only editing work being necessary.

On another front I'm on the fence about how I will narrate what goes on once I'm done with the Copenhagen arc. I already have future ports of call charted, but I don't know whether I will do as detailed a tale as in Copenhagen or go for a more brief narration before moving on to the next.

Chapter 32: Equines on the Horizon

The western entry point into the terminal where the ships were moored was by far the more important of the two. Its glass office building situated next to the entrance rose above the container stacks of the terminal, granting the sailors guarding it excellent sight of the area. There was another access to the terminal two kilometers away, but its position on the northern side (the one with the UNICEF warehouse) made it so that anything coming from the city would first have to pass in range of the western checkpoint before reaching the northern part of the docks.

This was the motive behind the Captains deciding to assign more crewmembers to guard that checkpoint. That still only made it five of them to guard the area and watch the CCTV cameras, but the two .50 cal machineguns on the roof of the building were more than enough to compensate for the small size of their group.

If anything that wasn’t one of their expedition convoys tried to make it past them, then it would have a really bad time.

Few interesting things extended beyond the terminal: there were a few warehouses and parking spaces past the fence the sailors were guarding, but nothing else really. They had a whole kilometer of concrete and widely spread out buildings before the industrial landscape traded place with a marina closer towards downtown Copenhagen. That was actually to their advantage since it left little in the way of hiding spots for monsters to get the drop on them if they were to approach.

With the ongoing works on the Rhine, most of both vessels’ engineering departments were kept busy on the barge carrier, including all their welders (though in their case, not all of them were engineering sailors). That left it up to the deck guys to pick up the task of ensuring the terminal was secure.

Well, not exclusively deck guys. Bart hadn’t been assigned to that department since the unicorn didn’t have the proper skills for that. He sort of was in a grey area where Captain Prateek had placed him under Farkas’ command in the catering department but he was more of a guard/firearm instructor/gunsmith…

On the paper it was kinda confusing; but in practice he just worked in the armory and helped with keeping watch or training the sailors whenever he could.

The only other sailor from Amandine currently watching the checkpoint was Ivan. Bart didn’t know much about the female osprey griffon beside the fact she usually kept watch with Geert while they were at sea. She was probably checking out the cams inside the CCTV room at the time.

As for Bart, the stallion was sitting on his haunches behind one of the machineguns on the roof. He took a long drag of the cigarette held in his telekinesis before tossing the smoldering butt off the roof.

So much for giving up tobacco. Then again, with all the stress caused by his new situation, he at least had a justification behind it.

The blue furred unicorn was wearing his set of retrofitted K9 armor above his coveralls, along with his brown beret. The rise in temperature that came with the end of June, made worse by the sky-blue coat of fur his transformation had provided him forced him to ditch his wool sweater. He still wore his ranks on his armor though.

A couple pouches were attached to the flanks of his armor, some for tools, and others for ammunition or stun grenades. The Belgian wasn’t able to carry as much gear as he used to before the Event, his unicorn frame made sure of that (hell, even if he wanted to his armor didn’t have as much room for pouches as a human’s).

On his back was his rifle, loosely held in place by its straps. Bart had recently ditched the SCAR used by Amandine’s more experienced crewmembers in favor of one of the newly modified FNC’s. He had modified them himself with parts obtained from the Ak-5’s found in the Swedish army base. The first thing he had done was swap the Belgian upper receiver for the Swedish one which came with a picatinny rail. The lower receiver could have some use, but installing it would have removed the burst fire in favor of an enlarged trigger guard he didn’t need considering he was pulling it with his telekinesis. It could have some use for species with large fingers like the dogs and minotaurs, but certainly not to him.

The Swedish variant also had an enlarged cocking handle. That he had put on his rifle, as well as the adjustable stock and the modified handguard. Said part came with some rails as well, mainly to fit a foregrip he wouldn’t have been able to grasp had he chosen to install it. Still, he had managed to outfit it with some accessories like a combined flashlight/laser.

Combined with the scope he had mounted on it, the unicorn was rather proud of his work. It was… odd how naturally taking care of firearms came to him recently. He knew he should have had difficulties swapping barrels and making all those modifications fit together properly… but it really was a breeze. He had only had a couple hours of work in the armory between the return of the expedition from Sweden (having to bring back the IFV had seriously put a dent in their timetable) and the beginning of his watch on the checkpoint, but he had still somehow managed to retrofit almost all of their arsenal of FNC’s to better specs. It just came to him like a natural talent.

Just as he was reaching for a second cigarette, his ears twitched as he picked up some footsteps coming up behind him.

A purple dragon clad in a white set of coveralls and a multicam-patterned plate carrier sat down beside him. Mikhail if he recalled correctly. The Ukrainian was carrying his C7 strapped across his angular chest. He rubbed uncomfortably at his shoulders before quickly looking around the horizon. Not finding anything of interest, he pulled out a small cigarillo and lit it with his fire breath.

“Wings hurt?” Bart asked distractedly in thickly accented English, his pair of binoculars floating for a second as he spotted something in the distance by the marina.

Just a flock of seagulls flying out towards the sea.

“Kinda, plate carriers ain’t exactly made for creatures with wings.” Mikhail winced.

“Modify it?” Bart suggested, eyeing the bulge the dragon’s wings made beneath his coveralls. Unlike most winged sailors on Amandine, he had yet to spare the time to fit them with zippers for his wings.

“Haven’t had the time yet, plus I can’t exactly say I’m good at sewing. I removed the rear plate but that’s about it.” He shook his head dejectedly. “Anyway, you see anything?”

“Seagulls, a zeehond err… seal too.” The unicorn snorted. He stopped to look at something in the direction of the marina. “Correction: two seals. What time is it?”

“Eleven o’clock, still one hour to go before we’re relieved.” Mikhail told him.

Bart just nodded and went back to looking out towards the city centre. They had agreed that they would keep two pairs of eyes up on the rooftop while the rest stayed down below keeping an eye on the gates and checking out the cams from time to time.

The two of them lapsed into silence for a few minutes. It was actually a fairly nice day, with the summer temperature being alleviated by a soft sea breeze. There were very few clouds up in the sky, the only speck of grey or white being the seabirds that flew back and forth between the town and the waters of the Oresund. In comparison to its bustling pre-Event nature, the area was dreadfully quiet. The two of them could barely hear the sound of the power tools and generators coming from the ships further inside the terminal.

Of course it’s always moments like that that have to be broken up by something occurring. Bart stood up in a rush the second he spotted a cluster of shapes round the corner of a warehouse on the edge of their perimeter. His binos flew in front of his eyes in an instant as he gave a sharp nudge to the purple dragon by his side.

“Contact, front, 800 meters.” The unicorn barked.

There were five of them, all equines advancing in loose formation. There were two of them leading the way up front: one red unicorn mare with a scarlet mane and a large orange draft horse of a stallion that lacked a horn (first time they saw one of those actually). Behind them he could see one lanky yellow unicorn mare and two of what must have been two pegasi because they were hovering a meter or two above the asphalt using avian wings. Only one of the equines in the entire group was actually wearing anything (and even then it was only a medieval-looking gambeson); the rest only carried saddlebags on their backs (with the draft horse loaded with what must have equated to all the weight his companions carried combined).

And they were marching straight towards them.

“Call your guys, get them on the machineguns.” Bart told Mikhail. “I work as guard before, and I am horse too so I will deal with it.”

“Roger that. I’ll be radioing the ships too.” The dragon added as he was standing up. “You think they speak English?”

“I try.” The stallion shrugged, already halfway to the staircase.

He carefully (having already had one stair-related accident too much that day) made his way down the stairs and to the CCTV room. Ivan was there lazily scrolling through the menus on a computer and distractedly glancing at the camera screens.

“Sta op, we got company.” Bart cried out, barging in the room and startling the osprey griffon.

“Wha-, really?! Monsters?”

“No, hors- err, ponies I mean. Five of them.” He told her. “The others are on the roof, you’re with me.”

She hastily hopped off her desk chair and grabbed her own modified FNC. Bart didn’t wait for her and immediately galloped towards the entrance of the building at the same time as he tuned in to the general channel on his walkie-talkie. Mikhail’s voice rose up through the radio above the sound of his hooves against the floor tiles. Looking at his reflection in the building’s windows, he quickly adjusted his armor and beret before going outside.

The door he took placed him with the gates between himself and the five equines approaching the checkpoint. They were just reaching the halfway point when he loosened the strap that held his rifle on his back. A quiet 'click' also confirmed his 303 pistol was ready for use.

With the training sessions he had done on the range, he was pretty sure he could switch to firing position under two seconds.

“Amandine to checkpoint.” His radio crackled. “Don’t let the unknowns inside, figure out their intent and communicate it back to us for the Captains to assess. Over.”

“Roger that. Checkpoint out.” Bart answered, eyes not leaving the group. A flicker of his telekinesis pressed down on his walkie-talkie just to make sure he’d transmit anything that was said between him and the ponies.

He could now see that the gambeson-wearing Pegasus in the group was carrying a small crossbow under his wing. Primitive or not, he was armed.

The group had obviously taken note of the .50 cals up on the roof, but it didn’t seem to deter them. The lanky unicorn’s ears flattened against her skull, but they soldiered on and moved towards him. As they got closer, the two pegasi in the group landed among their brethren.

With the exception of the crossbow Pegasus, none of them appeared to actually qualify as combatants in his mind. Still, better be careful…

“Halt!” Bart yelled loudly when he deemed them close enough; one hoof raised in what he hoped would be interpreted as the universal ‘stop’ gesture despite him lacking a hand.

The group thankfully stopped with the red mare still in front of them.

“If you understand me, state your identity and your business here!” He cried out in his heavily accented voice.

“Greetings.” The red mare intoned slowly. “My name is Sidereal Venture, Doctor Sidereal Venture. My team here…” She waved her hoof to encompass the ponies behind her. “… wishes to have a word with your leader and possibly lend you assistance.”

On the edge of his vision, Bart spotted Mikhail up on the roof listening in to the conversation on his walkie-talkie.

“Miss…”

“Doctor.” She corrected him.

“Right, Doctor…” Bart shook his head. “Judging by your looks, I do not believe we are the ones in need of assistance. Waar do you come from? Germany? Zweden? Our group explored the city already and we found nobody. There are monsters outside you know.”

Sidereal glanced back towards Gust.

“Yes, we have crossed path with some monsters… but we do not come from this planet.” She said slowly.

Obviously Equestrian wasn’t the guard's mother language, no need to speak too quickly otherwise she would just piss him off and have to repeat herself.

Bart quirked his head, one ear flicking slightly.

“Wablief? Did you just say you are an alien?” He chuckled awkwardly, quickly checking that Mikhail had heard that just as he had. A nod from the purple dragon confirmed it.

He also took note of Ivan by the building’s entrance, the griffon standing a respectable distance away and hidden in the shade.

“We sort of are.” Sidereal calmly said with a smile. “You see, the authorities on my planet are… aware of the cataclysm that occurred here. So they sent us to offer our help to the survivors.”

“Very funny.” Bart said sarcastically. “But zelfs I know other planets are ridiculously ver away. You need a spaceship, a flying saucer.”

“We teleported.” Sidereal explained as if that was the most normal thing in the world.

Bart rolled his eyes, an equine-sounding snort escaping his nostrils.

“Really? Teleportation? Hoor lady, I'm ready to set aside logic with all the stuff that’s happening but teleportation is a bit too far-fetched.”

Sidereal just smirked softly. Her horn took on an intense red glow Bart knew was a sign of telekinesis.

And then with a ‘pop’ she crossed the distance that separated her from the gate in the blink of an eye, coming just a meter short of the surprised Belgian.

“Godver-!” Bart swore, the stallion rearing up on his hooves and telekinetically reaching for his rifle. “Stand back! Now!” He yelled, already switching to a combat position with his less-lethal pistol floating above him.

“I could have teleported to the other side you know.” She stated, calmly walking a meter backwards.

Up above them, Mikhail had to force his gunners not to open up on the ponies below them with the .50 cals despite the surprise.

“I doubt that would have ended well.” Bart ground out as he rested his weight on his floating rifle, barrel pointed at the ground in front of the Equestrian mare.

“Interesting technique.” She said, critically eyeing his stance. “You know you can do more with that horn than float things around?”

“Ja, you just showed me.” He said, glaring at the mare. “One more time, what do you want?”

“To speak with your leader. To teach your people. I know you weren’t a pony before, me and my team can teach your herd how to live with your new bodies. We know what happened.” She told him with a firm look in her eyes.

Bart gauged her for a few seconds, the mare firmly returning his hard stare. He clicked his tongue before returning to a four-hooved stance with his rifle on his back... but his 303 stayed trained on the group. His horn lit up as he keyed in on the radio.

“Checkpoint to Amandine, the group of visitors wants to speak to the Kapitein. They say they know stuff about the cataclysm. Over.”

The waves went silent for a minute or two.

“Checkpoint… your orders are to get them inside a meeting room in the lobby and wait for the Captains to arrive. ETA is five minutes. Amandine out.”

Sidereal overheard that and smiled. She turned away from the guard and motioned for her fellow ponies to come forward. As for Bart, he discreetly nodded towards Ivan who flipped a switch that set the gates in motion. They slid aside to let the ponies in, Bart guiding them inside the building. A few of them stopped to stare at the female griffon sitting on her haunches in the shade by the door, but they didn’t say a word.

It was highly likely that Copenhagen’s harbor authority used to hold executive meetings in the entrance building before the Event because many of the rooms on the ground floor were actually meeting rooms. Bart led the five ponies into one such room which was… actually rather bland. White walls, grey carpet, and tables arranged in a U-shape around a whiteboard. There was also a projector in the room, though the blue furred unicorn doubted crossbow-totting aliens would have any use for it.

The lanky unicorn in the group was the first to set down her saddlebags with a relieved sigh escaping her muzzle. She kept looking towards the neon lights and the A/C unit in the back of the room as if they were completely foreign things.

Come to think of it they probably were.

“How did you find us?” Bart asked.

“Mage sight.” Sidereal replied. Her horn flickered briefly and her large eyes took on a bluish glow for a second. “It’s a spell that allows me to sense the flow of magic, if I tune it just right I can also detect living beings in large groups. I must say… ponies on your planet generate a lot more magic than us.”

“Magic now?” Bart shook his head. “Whatever…”

He pulled a chair close to the door and hopped on it, keeping a watchful eye on the five visitors.

“What’s your name anyway?” The orange draft horse asked.

“I’m Corporal De Mesmaeker. You?”

“Pulp Orange. So you’re military?” The other stallion asked as he set down his own massive saddlebags.

Bart didn’t miss how the large equine subtly put himself between the guard and the rest of his group. He didn’t miss the orange presser symbol on his flank either. Not unlike the dismantled gun he had in the exact same place…

Actually every pony he had met so far bore that kind of mark. Maybe it had a deeper meaning.

“I am, but only me. The rest of the guys are merchant navy. My turn now… how long have you been on the planet?”

“Ten days.” This time it was one of the pegasi who spoke up, the grey furred one that wasn’t wearing anything. “We appeared in a city called Stockholm and immediately started going south.”

He was a bit thinner than the one with the gambeson, his grey fur combining with his black mane to give him a rather plain appearance which was only broken up by the mark on his flank that depicted a treasure map. By comparison, his toxic green eyes stood out like a lighthouse in dense fog.

“Radiant Course by the way, navigator… and sometimes airship engineer.” He presented himself, holding out a hoof towards Bart. “How large is your group I wonder?” He asked in his rough voice.

“Seventy-seven people.” Bart clopped his hoof against the pegasus’. “How do you all can speak English if you’re aliens?”

“English? We’re speaking Equestrian Corporal.” Sidereal said.

“I’m pretty zeker that language I learned is called English Doctor. This is not my mother language, but it’s the one you learn if you want to travel because everyone speaks it.”

“Everyone?” Radiant tilted his head. “Don’t you mean everypony?”

“Wat? No! Please, English is hard enough to learn, don’t use your local expressions.”

“ Regardless…” Sidereal continued. “They told me in the beginning it was highly likely our two worlds would share similarities. One language is just fortunate, though I did have a translation spell ready.”

Bart just stared at her blankly, not having fully understood what she told.

“Hoor…” The guard said. “Nobody in our group speaks English as their mother language. It’s al hard enough, so please don’t make it harder ok?”

“Will try.” Radiant nodded.

Then Bart caught the noise of a truck stopping outside of the building. He heard Ivan exchange a few words with Captain Prateek in the lobby before some footsteps approached their meeting room.

“Captain’s here.” He said, hopping off his chair.

In came Dilip, the pariah dog quickly followed by Raimund behind him. The sight of the pink unicorn filly earned some puzzled looks from the Equestrians, but Dilip moved to the front of the room before they got time to comment on that.

“Greetings to you all. I am Captain Prateek of M/V Amandine.” He told the assembled ponies.

“And I Captain Gerig, of M/V Rhine Forest. Corporal De Mesmaeker here told us you wished to speak to us about the cataclysm.” She added.

“Aren’t you a bit young to be a Captain?” Cheese Cake blurted out from the back of the group.

“I will have you know I am actually sixty-one.” She told the mare with a deep frown. “That… cataclysm you claim to know about robbed me not only of my masculinity but of my age as well. Which of you five is the leader of the group?”

“I am. We were aware of the possibility of such… effects, but not to such an extreme degree.” Sidereal said, trotting to the front of the meeting room. “Doctor Sidereal Venture.” She added, holding out a hoof towards the pink filly.

Raimund eyed the proffered hoof critically before begrudgingly clopping hers against it.

“For what I assume to be an academic Doctor you seem rather ill-informed on the very phenomenon you claim to know about.” The German said.

“Not my specialization. My presence here is as part of a humanitarian effort fostered by the Equestrian Crown and its allies. We are one of many similar teams sent out across the divide between our worlds to offer assistance to survivors.” She told confidently.

“Really? How fortunate that you’d just so happen to be of a similar species as what some of our crewmembers turned into.” Dilip said with a hint of suspicion in his voice.

“I err…” Sidereal stuttered. “Captain, all the knowledge my superiors imparted upon me was about the ‘what’, not the ‘why’. They told me muzzle to muzzle that the more sensitive information will be communicated to a single group carefully vetted by one of our operatives that’s currently deployed on another continent.”

The Indian crossed his arms and looked her up and down for what to her felt like hours.

“Very well, be that way.” He concluded in a steely voice. He stopped a second to pull a chair and sat down heavily. “Now Doctor, if you don’t feel like telling me the ‘why’, by all means, feel free to tell me the ‘what’ then.” The pariah dog said, arms spread out.

And so she did. She began reciting everything she had been told in the briefings before the beginning of her expedition across the divide. That their Princess discovered their world about half a century earlier finding it to be nearly devoid of all magic, that she also later learned of an impending magical surge of gigantic proportions, that she had been told the similarities between their worlds and the sheer force of the surge would result in humans turning into any of the many species found on Equus, her planet-

“Magical exposure turns humans into ponies? Or whatever he turned into?” Raimund asked disbelievingly, motioning towards her fellow Captain with her muzzle.

“Not really, no.” Sidereal shook her head. “The surge did. Expeditions between our world and yours before the Event revealed that exposure to even low intensity magical fields was deadly to humans…” As were magic deficient fields to ponies but that probably didn’t matter right then.

Replacing every mention of ‘magic’ with ‘thaumic’ seemed to corroborate with the story they got from the HPI… though Dilip would have to be tortured before he revealed their existence to random aliens.

“... As I was told by experts on the subject, the forces of Harmony that guide magic seldom result in… deadly outcomes; which is why it is believed they chose to turn you and your shipmates into Equestrian creatures that could actually survive in the high intensity magical field that followed after the surge.” The Doctor continued with a frown on her muzzle. “It does seem to tie itself with the fact that both our worlds share a lot of similarities.”

Yeah, they definitely weren’t told the entire story; that much Dilip and Raimund agreed on with a subtle glance towards each other. Unfortunately, the Doctor didn’t appear to know it either so maybe she really was just there to offer her assistance.

Also, one cliché point for authorities not telling everything to their subordinates.

“I get the transformation part… somewhat.” Dilip said. “But how come nearly all of the population disappeared?”

“Transforming an entire planet worth of sapient beings takes up a lot of energy. Most of the power of the surge went into placing this population inside of a safe time stream, and then the humans are… spat out, for a lack of a better word, as time passes when the stream leeches enough magic off of the ambient magical field.”

Awfully elaborate for what was done by a force of nature.

Raimund asked her how long they thought it would take for all the population to return to Earth.

“Ah… you see…” She hesitated, eyes looking off to the side in search of an escape route. “That’s the hard part…”

“Ten thousand years.” Radiant said, not allowing his superior to stomp around the bush.

“What?!” All three former humans in the room yelled out collectively.

“As he said.” Sidereal confirmed, muzzle close to the ground. “It should take about ten millennia for your entire population to come back…”

“That’s enough time for civilization to rise and fall again several times!” Dilip cried out, standing up in anger. “I got sailors under my command lady; they had families back home, children even! For crying out loud, my blasted Second Officer's wife was expecting! And now you’re telling me they might not get to see their families again in their lifetime?!”

In a feat of anger, the dog slammed down his paw against the desk in front of him and erupted in a long stream of curses in Marathi that had the Equestrians’ ears fold back against their skulls even though they didn’t understand any of it.

“Captain…” Sidereal tried. “We’re terribly sorry to have to tell you that…”

“Damn right you are!” This time it was Raimund’s turn to be angry. She pointed an accusatory hoof at the red mare in front of her. “You basically just told us that with that whole catastrophe… Thousands of years of development have just been wiped out! Millions- nay, billions of lives sacrificed on the altar of progress and in countless wars have all been for naught! Jack-fucking-shit! Nada! Zilch! Hundreds of countries with histories spanning as far back as two thousand years, gone!” She shook her head and took a pause to breathe out, center herself. “All of our technologies… many of them incredibly dangerous when left unattended… doomed to be forgotten. Derelict factories now spewing chemicals in the atmosphere and condemning entire towns to noxious pollution…” She motioned with her muzzle towards Dilip, the dog now having sat back down with his shoulders sagged. “Hell, had it not been for him and his crew we would be on the brink of such annihilation the entire planet would probably have become uninhabitable for centuries, if not millennia.”

“Surely you must be joking!” Pulp protested.

“There were no less than seven billions of us, now imagine the scope of the industry that feeds a population that big which is only heightened by our technological advancement… which by the looks of your own tech is far ahead of what you have at your… hooves.” She concluded with a sneer. “That is the industrial might that’s now left rampant.”

“And?” Radiant asked, sounding genuinely confused.

“And? And?!” Bart sat up. “For fuck’s sake you tuberculosis-riddled limp-dicked gluestick can you not understand? When people reappear they will just die! Toxic gas, radiation, polluted uninhabitable landscapes, destroyed fields… and monsters too, of course!” He added, lifting his head up to show them the scar he had gotten from the wood hounds in Zeebrugge.

At least the ponies before them had enough wits to put the pieces together and figure out what had given him this scar.

“That’s enough Corporal.” Dilip said quietly. “I do not believe these… ponies… fully understand the scope of this whole cataclysm or that of our world.” He said, tiredly rubbing a paw over his muzzle. “This has just gotten much worse than we actually dared think… but there is still hope.”

“You call that hope?!” Raimund yelled in a shrill voice.

“At least now we are sure they will return.” He told her, one paw raised in a placating manner. “It may not be much… but we do have the tools to get to them. Now…” His gaze darkened as he slowly turned towards Sidereal. “… What is it you claim to be able to offer us in terms of assistance?”

“Well, for one you all turned into species from our world. I’d wager we know quite a bit about more about them than you do.” She waved a hoof at Radiant and Gust. “Flight lessons we can give too, and I as a rather well-trained mage can teach unicorns about magic.”

“What about sphinxes?”

“I beg your pardon?” Sidereal said.

“Sphinxes. Lion-cat quadruped with wings, they can do telekinesis too.”

“I uh… that’s a very rare species in my country… they’re almost unheard of on our side of the planet. Are there many of them?”

“About half a dozen.” He said, waggling his paw in a so-so gesture. “There is a lot of variety in species amongst our crews.”

“It… can’t be that bad.” Sidereal said with a smile. “Did your crew from very different countries?”

“On my crew alone we have eighteen different nationalities. And the species… we have dogs like me, cats, sphinxes, parrots, griffons, hippogriffs, gargoyles, dragons, minotaurs and… batponies and unicorns too. And of course there are those hedgehog creatures and centaurs on Gerig’s crew.” Dilip said.

“Sweet Mother of Faust…” Sidereal said, slack jawed. “Why? Just… why?”

“Cheap labor basically. The company that owns my ship at least… it’s always a deal. You work worldwide in the merchant navy, so they seek out the cheapest workers for any specific task. Then there are laws that come into play where if you want to get certain contracts you need a certain number of sailors from a specific country or continent… I mean, even crewing agencies do it: ‘we’ll give you the sailors you want, but if you want to keep getting sailors from us then you gotta take these guys as well'.” He shrugged. “It’s all a ploy to minimize the crewing costs and even minimize taxes. That and… public relations really love their nancy speeches about diversity.”

“Doesn’t that get… you know… confusing sometimes?”

“Sort of, ain’t easy, but you get used to it. Most of the time, you get the same nationalities at certain ranks like Ukrainians and Filipinos. Plus generally we all focus on work first and learn to put our differences aside. We’re working to make money, not to feed intercultural feuds. Countries aside, have you heard of those species?”

“Most of them… yes. Our own country Equestria mostly features the four pony tribes. That is: Unicorns, Pegasi, Earth Ponies and the lesser known tribe of the Batponies.” Sidereal explained. “We have some standing alliances with species like hippogriffs, griffons too, to a lesser extent. I’m… never too sure about the dragons since they tend to be rather aggressive but they are on our borders. By the way Captain, in Equestria we call your species ‘Diamond Dogs’.”

“Good to know. So you can teach us?”

“Well… we’ll likely have to send a request message for detailed books on non-Equestrian species but we can and will help with ponies, flight and magic.” Sidereal perked up.

“I’d be an idiot to scoff at the opportunity of assistance.” Dilip muttered as he stood up and walked over to the Doctor. “So…” He held up his paw. "Let's start over... May I offer you my welcome to Copenhagen, Doctor?”

A red hoof connected met his cream furred paw.

“Gladly, Captain.”

Dilip ushered the group of five ponies outside where the unimog he had come with was parked. Roberto was there, the Italian cat quietly smoking a cigarette and leaning against the side of the vehicle.

“Survivors?” He asked, eyeing the approaching Captains and ponies.

“Aliens technically.” Dilip told him. “It’s a long story, mind if I ride in the back while you take us back to Amandine?”

Roberto stared dubiously at his superior for a second before shaking his head, muttering a very sarcastic sounding ‘Ma certo…’ under his breath.

“What is this?” Cheese asked to no one in particular. The lanky mare may have been tall by pony standards but the military truck still utterly dwarfed her.

“You… don’t have cars and trucks?” Raimund said quizzically.

“No… Is this some kind of cart? We saw plenty of these on our way here but we just assumed there was a system to pull them.”

“Sort of I guess? We use vehicles like these a lot to move around on land, it has an engine in the front to propel it forward. They’re ahem… vehicles like that, along with ships and planes are at the core of our civilization.”

“You mean it’s self-propelled? Like a train?” Radiant almost gushed. The Pegasus flew over to the front of the vehicle to take a look at the grill covers. “We never managed to miniaturize steam engines that much in Equestria so they’re only there for large vehicles like airships and the Friendship Express.”

“Actually it runs on diesel. Few vehicles still run on steam nowadays, it’s just too big and slow to react.” Gerig said, struggling a little to climb in the back of the truck.

The seats were raised already, with the tarpaulin’s side raised for view but not completely removed so as to keep passengers in the shade.

“Diesel?”

“As in, petrol. Refined oil, it’s a combustion engine. Mind getting in?” The German asked the Pegasus who was still hovering in front of the truck.

The pegasus’s large eyes lit up like a kid in a candy store. In a blur, he flew right in front of the Captain’s face.

“Combustion you say?! Our best engineers can only manage barely-working prototypes of the stuff!”

“Engineer?” The filly asked in a flat tone.

“Navigator actually… but I sometimes assist as airship engineer.” The Pegasus boasted.

“Sit down then, might be necessary when we come in view of the ships.” The pink unicorn filly told him.

By then all of his fellow ponies were sat down on the benches with their saddlebags piled up in the front part of the vehicle. Radiant smiled sheepishly and glided down to take a seat between Gust and Sidereal. Dilip gave a tap on the back of the cabin, signaling for Roberto to get then on the move.

The Pegasus looked like he was having the time of his life when the Italian turned the key and the truck started up with a rumble. Roberto backed away from the entrance checkpoint, leaving the guards behind as he steered them towards the quays where the ships were moored.

The ships were a mere kilometer away from the entrance. That small a distance was actually enough to bring awe in the minds of the otherworldly visitors in the back of the truck. They gaped at the sight of the tall container stacks and the cargo cranes that dotted the landscape of the harbor.

But that reaction was dwarfed by the one they had at the sight of the two ships.

By then they had already finished modifying the crane on the Rhine so that it could be used to pick up stuff alongside the vessel. The five Equestrians were thus able to see some sailors proceed to use it to pick up some large steel structures two welders were busily assembling on the quays next to the large barge carrier.

“This is my vessel, the Rhine Forest. She’s a bit old I’ll admit, but we take good care of her.” Gerig smiled softly.

“Th- this is…” Radiant stuttered.

“Gigantic!” Cheese blurted out.

“Well, as a barge carrier she’s a bit on the heavy side but there are many vessels bigger than her. In fact last I checked before the Event struck, Shell Prelude was almost twice as long as she is. We were busy doing works on her when you arrived.”

“Bigger?!” Radiant looked at Gerig as if she had just sprouted wings and become a Princess. “That thing here is easily five times as long as the average merchant airship in Equestria!”

“Eh, our industry moved away from airships. Too inefficient.” The German snorted. “Either they had a habit of blowing up or they just couldn’t carry enough cargo.”

“And how much cargo are we talking about exactly?” Sidereal asked.

“Captain Gerig’s ship is able to load up to thirty thousand tons of cargo in his barges. That’s the yellow floating boxes see…” Dilip pointed his paw towards some empty barges they had moored alongside the Rhine to make room for the modifications. “As for Amandine, her deadweight is a bit less than half of what the Rhine carries, but she’s made to carry road vehicles. Trucks, cars, trailers… containers too sometimes, but dedicated container vessels are more cost-effective for that particular cargo.”

Radiant’s gaze turned towards the bow of the grey and white vessel moored just behind the Rhine. His large eyes drifted over her sleek bow and rounded flanks.

Gust let out a disgusted cry as the other pegasus’ wings stood up straight.

“Cadance bless me, I’ve fallen in love.” He drooled.

Dilip just chuckled.

It was just impossible to get everyone together for just one presentation. Many sailors had shifts to do around the docks, be it as guards, workers on the Rhine or even just training. Dilip quickly explained that to the Equestrians and told them they would have to organize multiple presentations to the crews of either ship at different times.

“I figure it’s not that big of a deal.” Sidereal nodded. The mare had donned a hardhat when they boarded Amandine at Dilip’s request. “There are multiple things that will need to be addresses and we may need a bit of time to prepare it…” She mused, looking around at the large holds that made Amandine’s inner decks.

To be frank there wasn’t much activity in there at that time of the day. She could hear grinding noises coming from an area near the bow of the vessel the Captain had labeled as the workshop but beside that it was all just containers stacked two by two and parked vehicles, some of which clashed from the rest with their menacing angles and drab olive green paintjob.

Gerig was gone now, the unicorn filly (the sight of which still perturbed the red mare, Celestia knew she was young enough to be her daughter, hard to attach the ‘Captain’ rank to that) claiming she still had a lot of paperwork to go through on her own ship.

“We have offices for that. By the way, I assumed this was implied but I wish to offer you my hospitality on board of my vessel. Should you wish to stay here, we have some free cabins for all of your team. You only need to ask so I can tell my Chief Steward.” Dilip told her, amusedly staring at the form of Radiant who was looking around so fast he looked like he was about to break his neck.

That behavior only earned an exasperated eye roll from his superior though. Celestia knew the pony had been doing that every time they found something new.

“Much appreciated Captain. It’s been a while we’ve been on the road, I feel like my team could appreciate modern appliances and actual beds.” Sidereal smiled.

“Bucking right we could! My back’s killing me!” Pulp cried out from the back of the group as he pulled his saddlebags from the unimog’s bed, the weight difference making the truck’s suspension rise a few centimeters and finally allowing Roberto to take it deeper inside, back into storage.

“Language Pulp.” Sidereal chastised him. “Though to be fair, he is right, hard soil hasn’t done much good to my spine.” She winced.

“You have my sympathy. On the bright side the transformation rid me of my own age-related back pains, so I got that going for me.” Dilip slowly walked over to a large sliding door near Amandine’s stern ramp.

The lift actually. He was never too fond of using it for stuff that wasn’t supplies and injured crewmembers, but he figured the ponies would welcome the help with their saddlebags. One press of a button later, the door slid aside, showing the five ponies what to them just looked like a small room.

“What is this?” Cheese wondered aloud.

“Cargo lift. I figured you would appreciate it, what with all those bags you carry around.”

“On a ship? That’s a first.” Radiant admitted.

“I get the feeling you’re going to see many firsts today.” Dilip commented offhandedly as he shoved his key in the slot that would lead them to the deck where the cafeteria and ratings’ rooms were.

Merchant vessels like Amandine weren’t made with a lot of cabins to begin with. Passengers were a rarity and, in many cases, a legal liability that came with a whole new set of legislations. That didn’t mean they didn’t have some spare cabins to offer the Equestrians. Dilip quickly called Farkas over via the interphone and had her lead the five ponies to their cabins, with Sidereal even getting one of the Officer-sized VIP cabins.

While the sphinx kept the visitors busy, the pariah dog (or maybe he should start saying Diamond Dog now? That was the correct name apparently) snuck away and had what crewmen he could find quickly pass around the message that they were not to ever mention anything that could remotely be linked to the HPI to the visitors.

Not an hour later, the ponies found themselves inside Amandine’s cafeteria for lunch. Not all of them though, since apparently the Captain had invited the Doctor to dine with him and the Chief Officer.

To say they were surprised by the lingering smell of spices would have been an understatement.

“Sweet Celestia, what do they put in the food there?!” Gust complained as he rubbed a gold furred hoof over his runny nostrils.

“Spices, lots of them.” A grey minotaur said as he sat down next to the group with his own plate. “A necessity considering how poorly herbivores react to the smell of meat. Hope you guys don’t mind, the lots of us got used to it overtime.”

“We uh… we can make do mister…?” Cheese trailed off.

“Molnàr, but you can just call me Angelo. I’m the Second Engineer by the way.” He told the unicorn, one large hand held up towards her.

“Well met then Angelo.” She smiled and shook his hand. “I’m Cheese Cake.”

“Odd name.” The Minotaur commented.

“Pot calling the kettle back.” Gust said. “Your names just sound like random syllables put together to us.”

“First off that’s because they’re not English…” He paused to take a bite of his goulash, leftovers from the day before. “… Second, if memory serves centuries ago human names may have sounded more like yours but overtime they sort of…transformed to become what they are because people would just shorten them and mess up the pronunciation.” He shrugged. “At least that’s the way I understood it, I’m no language expert.”

“So where do you come from actually?” This time it was Pulp who asked the question.

“Greece, or Athens to be precise. It’s a coastal nation thousands of miles south of there. Warm weather, many rocky archipelagos and plenty of olive trees. And of course the ruins of civilizations spanning thousands of years too… tends to attract a lot of tourists.” He explained between two mouthfuls. “Would have loved to stay there more, but it’s pretty poor by global standards so I had to find a good paying job elsewhere so…” He waved his large hand around. “Edó eímai…”

“That’s you mother language?” Cheese gushed. “Fascinating! How many are there?”

“Languages?” Angelo quirked an eyebrow. “Dunno… I heard that the total count was well above five thousand but as far as I’m concerned there are only about a hundred that are actually relevant on a global scale. And even then I can only speak two.”

“Five thousand? Holy horseapples!” Gust called.

“Many of those are languages only spoken by a thousand peoples, isolated tribes in the jungle or in the middle of some far off archipelago. It’s a big world out there you know.” Angelo said. “Others include regional variants of a larger language, or even crossover areas that develop their own language that’s really a mix of two bigger languages, or more. I mean, there’s a whole science behind that, but I’d rather stick to my machinery.”

On the other end of the table, Radiant was practically vibrating in place, numerous questions for the Greek Engineer practically hanging on the tip of his muzzle. It was a shame really that Angelo’s attention was instead focused on Pulp, or rather the way the Earth Pony was eating.

“How do you do that?” Angelo asked.

“Do what?” The stallion paused, his spoon somehow held in his flat, fingerless hoof.

“Hold your spoon.”

“That?” Pulp’s ear twitched once. “No clue, all ponies can though. Nopony ever questions it.” He shrugged before shoveling some more goulash down his throat. “Good stuff by the way, spicy… but good.”

The minotaur stared off in the distance for a couple seconds before looking back to his plate, muttering some things about ‘physics-defying nudists’. The table went silent for a few minutes as they all enjoyed their meal, some more curious about the foreign recipe than others. Many on the crew really enjoyed Nguyen’s decision to start venturing into something that wasn’t the usual Asian food they served in the kitchen, though they could still spot traces of his usual style. Angelo was pretty sure the Vietnamese cat had added ginger in the recipe at some point, along with other spices that definitely wouldn’t have been found in more… traditional goulash recipes.

Not that it soured the meal. The end result was actually surprisingly palatable.

By the time Angelo set down his spoon, Radiant appeared like he couldn’t take it anymore.

“You looking for the toilets bud?” Angelo asked.

“Wha- No!” Radiant replied. “You said you were Engineer right?”

“Nai.” He nodded.

“As in… engine room Engineer?”

“What, you wanna visit it?”

“… Can I? Pretty please?” The Pegasus asked him, forehooves clasped together in a pleading manner.

“Probably. I’d have to ask Schmitt –the Chief Engineer that is- if you can since it’s a fairly dangerous place but there’s no super-secret tech to speak of.” Angelo said. “You seem rather curious.”

“Don’t you say he is.” Pulp snorted amusedly. “He’s been acting like a colt in a candy shop ever since we arrived.”

“Am not!” Radiant protested.

“You kind of are.” Cheese told him. “Right Gust?”

“Eeyup, wouldn’t shut up ‘bout ‘airships can’t do that’ or ‘only in schematics back home’. For Faust’s sake Radiant, I caught you gushing over the bucking toilets.”

Angelo suppressed a chuckle.

“Speaking of which, they’re vacuum toilets. Don’t get your tail caught in there otherwise it’s the snip.” The Greek warned them, his fingers making a scissor motion.

By a sheer stroke of luck, Mohammed passed by their table at that exact moment, the sphinx’s tail lacking half the tuft of black hair at the tip of his tail.

“I’m still amazed at the sheer variety of species you got on your ship…” Cheese gaped.

“Wasn’t the intention really.” The minotaur shrugged. “But the species and now your appearance does make me wonder…”

“’bout what?” Gust asked.

Angelo just waved a hand vaguely at the two pegasi sitting at the table.

“Minotaurs, pegasuses-“

“Pegasi” Gust corrected him.

“Whatever, sphinxes too, among other species. Many of these are species that are not unknown to humans. Thing is, they were supposed to be the work of fiction, old myths that date back further than I can fathom.” He rubbed his horn pensively. “Some details are a bit iffy… but it does seem odd that species from another world would turn out to be just like those mentioned in ancient fiction. Are you sure you guys got the full story from your superiors?”

“We haven’t been told much you know. For us, it’s just… get out there, find survivors, teach them about their new bodies.” Pulp admitted. “Even Sidereal doesn’t, and she’s been complaining about it since the beginning of the expedition. You pair that with the monsters and… Well, while I consider myself rather trusting of our government, this clause about one operative seeking someone to pass so-called ‘sensitive information’…” The Earth Pony made some air quotes with his hooves. “…gives me feelings that once again the little pony is getting bucked over.”

“You and me both pal.” Gust nodded.

Author's Note

In a way it's kinda ironic. Not a single one of the sailors on either ship speaks English as their mother language... and then native-speaker aliens turn up.

For the sake of the story (and also for my own sanity) I tend not to go too deep into the accents of some crewmembers. I don't think anybody needs to be reminded every line that they all speak with accents, though I'll admit the vocabulary of the ratings is miles ahead of what should be expected in a real situation.

Bart's an exception since he didn't speak English in the first place, which is why I try to keep his sentences simple when he's speaking English, same goes for the random Dutch words.

Chapter 33: Alien Sex-Ed

After lunch, Farkas came back to the Equestrians to lead them to the ship’s office so they could prepare their presentation.

While certain crewmembers on board had their own office such as Dilip, Roberto and Artyom (by virtue of being, respectively, the secretary and the bosun), most of their shipmates didn’t. The Officers and Engineers didn’t really need one since their cabins were large enough to do their paperwork there, but the ratings’ weren’t. Hence, Amandine had a larger office to conduct office work on deck B, just below the bridge. It wasn’t even always used by the ratings, since oftentimes they lent the office’s meeting space to surveyors and company officials that came on board.

The room was fairly large, decorated with the same pattern of cheap burgundy carpet covering the floor and waist-high fake planks on the walls. Anything above that was painted a pale yellow in opposition to the striped pattern found in the passageways, though it would have been hard to notice it considering the amount of boards and files hanging off the walls.

One half of the room was outfitted with computer desks, printers and bookshelves that were nearly bending under the weight of all the manuals and folders. The ponies following Farkas also took note of a large blackboard on that side of the room, onto which a crewmember had drawn a table containing the daily duties of Amandine’s complement.

The second half was more geared towards holding meetings. There were other places for such on board of course, such as the engine room’s office, the cafeteria and even Dilip’s office, but each of these was often occupied for one reason or another. It had a large rectangular Plexiglas table in the center, surrounded by a couple desk chairs, and naturally the usual projector already plugged to a computer, pointed towards a whiteboard.

Sidereal was already there and busy with her muzzle practically shoved between the pages of a book she had pulled from her saddlebags. A few other Equestrian books were strewn around the table with a mess of office supplies, none of which appeared to bother the Doctor as she busily scribbled down some notes on a few sheets of paper.

“Your team’s here Doc’” Farkas told.

“Good good.” Sidereal nodded distractedly, muzzle still riveted to her books and a thoughtful frown on her features.

She kept writing down in her notes.

“Doctor?” Pulp insisted, the stallion’s voice than the sphinx’s.

That apparently was enough to get through to her as the red unicorn jumped up in her seat and looked at the group next to her for the first time.

“Right uh… sorry. Bad study habit, I get carried away sometimes.” She told them with a sheepish smile.

“Min anisycheis.” Farkas replied. “If I may ask, do you require anything in particular for your presentation?”

“Such as?” Sidereal quirked her head. “I mean, I already got the paper, pens –neat pens by the way, beats our Equestrian pencils any day- and a board. What more do I need?”

At that Farkas smirked. Without a word, she approached the computer next to the projector and booted it up. Telekinesis was a bit iffy when it came to using keyboards, but by now she was pretty much used to it. One flicker of her power flared and hit the projector’s power button.

“I’ll hazard a guess; does your country know of slideshows? Or cinema projectors?”

“Well, yeah. We do have those, why?” Cheese asked her.

“Just to check how familiar you’d be with what I’m about to show.” The sphinx lioness said.

In front of her, the projector’s beam coalesced onto the whiteboard, showing the computer’s start menu. She immediately started up a new PowerPoint presentation.

“What is this?” Radiant and Sidereal both asked at the same time.

“A computer program we use to make presentations –slideshows that is-. Usually whenever someone has to give a lesson or a briefing we use them to support what we say. It’s generally more practical than a blackboard, at least in my opinion.” She told the ponies. “Captain’s told me to help you folks with that, and if need be we even have a scanner to convert what you have in your books into computerized data.”

Gust glanced alternatively between Farkas and the projected beam on the whiteboard, Radiant and Pulp both too busy quivering slightly at the sight of the computer and projector.

“You know, I think at this rate you’re gonna break the both of them with all your casual shows of technology.” He said, poking the immobile Radiant with one hoof.

“Can’t help it.” The lioness shrugged with her wings.

“I honestly think that’s amusing.” Cheese giggled.

The Equestrians spent the better part of the afternoon preparing their presentation in the Office, with the help of Farkas who stayed there to help them figure out how to use a computer.

Sidereal was forced to admit she didn’t know much about non-pony species, and what little information was available in the books her expedition had brought along was rather lackluster. Gust, by virtue of being an Everfree Ranger and thus slightly more familiar with foreign species, managed to offer a few tips, but the Doctor had to send him off later in the afternoon anyway.

Both him and Radiant actually. The two pegasi needed to report to the Third Officer up on the bridge because apparently the griffon needed their help to better plan out some evening flying lessons for the crew. To the Equestrians, it seemed as if all these sailors were extremely meticulous in their work with how much they insisted on doing things like pre-briefings, presentations and safety plans…

Considering the high-risk reputation of navigation in Equestria and how futuristic human society appeared to the ponies, maybe it was actually a natural development and not them being overly cautious.

Meanwhile on the Rhine Forest, a pink unicorn filly grumpily slammed down a shot of schnapps.

“I don’t think that’s particularly healthy with a body as young as yours.” Dilip commented from his seat in Raimund’s Office.

“Shut it Dilip, that’s precisely why I need the liquor.” She huffed. “You got two eyes last I checked, you clearly saw the looks I was getting from these…”

“Equestrians.” Dilip completed. “I did, but can we really blame them for it? You would be dubious too if a prepubescent kid turned up saying he was a Merchant Captain. It’s only your crew and mine that got used to it you know.”

“Understand it? I can, but liking it? That’s a big no.” Raimund shook her head. “And you really do believe them with that whole…” She rolled her hoof vaguely. “Alien jig?”

“I had the one called Sidereal show me some of her ‘magic tricks’ during lunch. I can honestly not believe a transformed human could have mastered such skills even if he or she reappeared as little as a second after the Event.” Dilip explained. “As for the sensitive information thing…”

“So does she actually know what happened or not?”

“She doesn’t. From the vibes that mare gives me, she was probably fed some horseshit –no pun intended- explanation by her superiors with just enough truth that it somewhat matches reality. She seems to know it as well by the way but…” He shrugged. “… I did get her to open up and complain about it. Bizarre or not, she still seems to trust her superiors blindly. Says they know better than her.”

“Weird, considering she presented herself as a high-level academic. So what are we going to do about it?”

“What do you mean?”

“The HPI.” Raimund uttered flatly.

“For now? I think we shouldn’t say anything. I just want to keep a couple assets out of their reach, just in case.”

“Like a tank.” She snorted.

“That wasn’t exactly planned… but them having an inaccurate idea of our combat capabilities won’t hurt.” Dilip told her. “As for the ponies they really do seem to know a lot more than us, and I think we can barter a bit of their medical know-how to the HPI without revealing its origin and trade it for the location of some more colonies.”

“Dirty. You do know they’re going to be pissed if they ever discover we’ve been dealing with aliens and haven’t told them.” She pointed out.

“They will be. Thing is, Eko is only one agent in their organization, and I think I’ve got him mostly figured out, at least as far as his ambitious streak is concerned. His colleagues though? I don’t want to completely depend on the whims of a shadow council, so we need a few aces up our sleeves.”

Raimund sagged a bit.

“Agreed but…” She sighed. “This seems all so needlessly complicated. Bear with me, weeks ago it was still all about getting to Lagos and doing offshore work not… getting turned into a tiny pink unicorn and then having to play mind games in a post-apocalyptic world between alien nudists and super-secret UN agencies while monsters are on the prowl and magic is somehow real.”

“When you put it like that… Ah screw it, pass me some of that schnapps.”

“Good evening fair mares and gentlecolts, my name is Doctor Sidereal Venture and I come from the world of Equus.” Sidereal began.

The mare stood in front of a crowd of sailors coming from both ships inside of Amandine’s cafeteria. They had gathered them after dinner to get a larger audience, the works on the Rhine stopping during the evenings according to their planning. That meant that except for the sailors on watch on the ships’ bridges and those guarding the terminal; everyone was available, including those that had been sent on an expedition in the morning.

Something about getting more power tools and oil reconditioning equipment for some experiments, not that she fully understood.

“My team and I…” She waved a hoof towards the four ponies that stood in a row behind her. “… have been sent as aid to survivors by our government, Equestria that is. You see, while my world certainly doesn’t have access to the kind of technology yours boasts, our expertise in magic far exceeds yours. This is how we managed to cross worlds, with an elaborate spell conceived by the best mages our capital city of Canterlot could offer.”

Stopping for a second to muster the courage to spit it out, the red furred mare repeated to the sailors the exact same thing she had told Dilip about the Event. She flinched when the crowd erupted in shouts of anger and cries of despair. They had her sympathy. If they were anything like Equestrian sailors, they used to have families waiting for them back home and she had just quashed any hopes they may have that said families would be there when they got back.

Or that they would ever get to see them again in their lifetime.

A stern-looking blue teenaged dragon with a beret managed to get the rowdy sailors to calm down. Well, for a dragon he was a teen. Sidereal was pretty sure that he was actually a middle-aged human if her assumptions were correct. Naturally even if the surge didn’t rejuvenate him he would have still turned into a teen by dragon standards, what with how slowly they aged.

Tartarus be damned, she was pretty sure most of the females she saw in the assembly used to be male. Very few mares ever went for that kind of nautical lifestyle in Equestria… ponies at least, she wasn’t too sure about how it went for parrots and Abyssinians, let alone centaurs.

The sight of the red skinned centaurs made her mind flash back to the ravages caused by Tirek. She forced herself to push the memories aside; they had no ties to that Demon of a sorcerer, much less considering the former Prince had been disavowed by his homeland.

“Now, I’ll pass the floor to Cheese Cake who shall give you a short presentation on the species you have turned into. Please do remember that we have training planned for flight and magic. The Officers should already have distributed the rosters for tonight’s session.”

Behind the computer hooked to the projector, Farkas moved on to the slideshow they had spent the afternoon preparing. The end result was… nothing spectacular really, but Cheese really had a blast making it under the sphinx lioness’ tutelage.

“Hi there!” The lanky yellow unicorn mare waved cheerfully at the crowd. “I’ll start off honestly: we don’t have much practical data on most of the species you’ve become, but I can still give you the basics.”

Cheese started off with the biggest slice of the pie they had available, one document she was even surprised they had. The interspecies reproduction chart. They had all agreed it was relevant to everypony on board, even though the genderswapped crewmembers might take it badly.

What appeared on the slide was a chart that depicted which species Equestrian creatures were able to reproduce with. Cheese had a lot to say about it, particularly as far as ponies were concerned.

Effectively, there were three possibilities on the chart: two different species (and the pony tribes counted as different species) could produce either a hybrid or a ‘pure’ (the term was a bit shoddy after passing through the Canterlot political mill) offspring; or they simply couldn’t.

Ponies for instance, were recorded as able to produce pure offspring with any of the other tribes. Cheese explained that in mixed families, the end result could often be affected by ancestry and that it was not uncommon for families to rediscover their family history when for instance two Earth ponies (she very much insisted on telling the sailor this was the right terminology, not draft pony) had a unicorn filly.

The four pony tribes were also able to produce pure offspring when reproducing with two species they had yet to meet, those two being what she labeled as the reindeer and the so-called ‘Everfree Deer’. Records also had it they could even mate that way with species as different as the centaurs and the hippogriffs.

In the back of the room, Carla gave Sebastien an interested look. That changed everything.

As for the matter of hybridization and ponies, she went on to explain that mating with one species known as the Zebricans would result in hybrid offspring . Some assumed it only resulted in a difference in fur coloration -of course the kids would be born with stripes-, but Cheese insisted that many species had innate magic influenced by hybridization as well. Like the Zebricans' alchemical skills.

“Wait, if a griffon and a pony do it, you get a hippogriff then?” A Diamond Dog with a broken paw asked.

“Weirdly enough, yes.” Cheese said, thinking back to a certain incident that occurred at the consulate in Fillydelphia. “The matter has puzzled biologists for decades, even more considering that many of these species should not be able to biologically reproduce with each other. Some mages attribute that to the inherent magic that permeates our universe… and now yours.”

Cheese decided to not go too much further on the matter of hybridization –they could check the books for that- and went on to the intricacies of… sexual intercourse. Obviously the mere mention of that raised a few ears and crests in the crowd, and she even spotted a few blushes.

She had gotten an explanation from Farkas on how humans reproduced. While similar to many of the mammalian species, she had to warn the sailors about heat season for equine species. She was certain about it being a pony thing, but other species didn’t go around shouting their mating habits so she couldn’t really tell about the rest.

On the bright side, she didn’t know of any species that ovulated as frequently as humans did. Celestia knew she would be hard pressed to live with a heat season every month. She had been told it had an influence on humans, but apparently nowhere near as strong as it did for ponies.

“What happens if the mare isn’t impregnated?” An indigo unicorn stallion asked from the back of the room. His white coveralls prevented her from looking at his Cutie Mark but she was pretty sure he was an engineer.

“Menstruation of course… and the obvious crankiness that ensues.” Cheese Cake told with a barely concealed wince.

That occurring during a visit to her family in Ponyville really hadn’t been the best of experiences.

“Can you avoid it?” The same unicorn asked.

“I’m sorry?” One of her ears twitched. “Self-control is hard but can work… otherwise we have contraception. There are rumors about potions and herbal medicine being able to stall ovulation or mitigate the effects but they’re rather uncommon. Now, we have plenty of literature available on the subject we will give you… for keeps of course, but there are other species I can mention, like griffons and hippogriffs. They’ve been Equestria’s allies for a while so we know a bit more about them.”

Hearing that, Farkas moved on the next part of the slideshow. A picture showing griffons and hippogriffs appeared on screen, accompanied by pictures of eggs, a pregnant-looking griffon and some notes.

These two species were truly peculiar when it came to reproduction as Cheese told them. They were the only known sapient species able to reproduce either via eggs or mammalian style. Many theorized that this allowed them to pick which method was the most efficient depending on environmental factors, though that had taken a completely different turn with the advent of modern society as various groups forged their own opinions on which was better, often pulling out pseudo-scientific arguments.

And then family planning institutions in Griffonstone got involved which made the whole thing even more confusing. That didn’t matter much to the sailors so she explained them how the method was determined by the ambient temperature during the first two weeks of incubation. If the temperature was high enough, griffon and hippogriffs would then lay eggs. The exception to the rule would be when a hippogriff female mated with a pony tribe, because then the offspring could be a pony. There was no ‘choosing’ to speak of in that particular case because the species of the offspring was determined earlier than the type of incubation.

In practice that meant that if a hippogriff mare was to bear ponies, it would be via pregnancy. If it was a hippogriff, then the options remained open.

That alone would have already been considering enough ‘originality’ in terms of biology, but it went further. The two avian chimeras didn’t ovulate at determined intervals like most species, no. Instead, they had ‘triggers’ which caused it. For griffons it was repeated sexual activity that caused ovulation.

Cheese was pretty sure she saw a glimmer of recognition in the eyes of a bald eagle griffon in the front of the crowd. Idly, she wondered if that may be about the young chick that lay between her and the grey falcon griffon next to her. They did behave like a mated couple after all, and the chick looked suspiciously similar to the two of them.

Also why was there a hatchling present for what was basically a sex-ed class? At least she didn’t seem to understand what she was saying…

Hippogriffs were a bit different. Ovulation wasn’t triggered by sexual activity but instead by calorie intake. The numbers were a bit iffy but it was often said they needed thrice their daily food intake to cause ovulation.

That method wasn’t unheard of on Equus actually. They had a couple sources citing it was also the case for dragons as well, but Cheese lacked an actual number on how much food the reptiles needed to gorge themselves on before they were able to reproduce.

As far as she knew, the phenomenon had a deep impact on hippogriffs society. Holidays and family reunions in Mount Aris always had an impact on the nation’s birthrate… and brought a whole new meaning to granny telling you you’re too skinny.

“Wait, does it affect sea hippogriffs as well?” A hippogriff stallion asked.

“Sea hippogriffs? I’m sorry?” Cheese tilted her head in confusion.

“You mean seaponies? I haven’t seen any on your crew, are they down in the water?” Sidereal jumped in.

“No… we’re here.” Said hippogriff told her, quickly transforming back and forth into his ‘marine’ form to show her.

That didn’t really have the expected effect because the red mare rushed over to the sailor and proceeded to look him over thoroughly.

“This shouldn’t be possible…” The Doctor muttered, much to the confusion of the sailors around her.

“Is there anything wrong ma’am?” The hippogriff shuffled awkwardly under her scrutiny.

“Oh, pardon me mister…” She trailed off.

“Yuri.” The seafoam colored hippogriff said, his orange coveralls depicting him as one of Amandine’s crewmembers.

“Right. Sorry Yuri, but back home I’m pretty sure hippogriffs and seaponies –as they’re called- cannot shift back and forth like you do. They need an… artifact of sorts to do it, a transformation pearl shard, and even then they are in short supply. Last I checked it was about… one per family if memory serves.” Sidereal rubbed the edge of her muzzle with one hoof pensively. “I mean… it could be that… Do you feel anything particular because of the transformation?”

“A bit of exertion maybe.” Yuri shrugged. “We can’t really shift back and forth many times in a row… leaves us winded see.”

Sidereal was about to ask him another question when she was interrupted by a polite cough from Farkas. Right, the presentation. The Doctor quickly excused herself, figuring out just how they could do that would have to wait for later.

“Where were we already?” Cheese asked.

“Seapony reproduction.” Aleksei called from the back of the room.

“Right.” Cheese nodded. “Simple enough actually. Similar to hippogriffs, but without the possibility of laying eggs. For hybridization… same thing as well, though it might be a bit hard for certain species in the water.” She mused. “But what can I say, if the flopping fish routine is your kink, I won’t judge.”

Amazingly enough, someone actually laughed at that.

The rest of her presentation was a bit more innocent. There was a lot to be told about each species, but Cheese settled for the simple, verified stuff.

For instance, she had to correct them on the proper naming for some species. There was no such thing as regular ‘dogs’ and ‘cats’. The correct terms were ‘Diamond Dogs’ and ‘Abyssinians’ instead to differentiate them from their less developed quadruped cousins.

Someone actually made a joke about Roberto being an Italian Abyssinian. What it referred to, the unicorn had no idea and apparently it was so obscure it flew above the heads of most of the sailors in the room so she just shrugged it off. Abyssinia was a respected trade nation, and their activities had been pivotal in rebuilding after the ruin caused by the Storm King. They were still hunting for the missing pieces of their treasury to this day, but even a fraction of it had been enough for the felines to regain their economical might.

What she told them next surprised the hell out of her audience. The next part of the slideshow showed them a picture of former Dragon Lord Torch next to one of an adolescent dragon. Apparently the dragons on the crew weren’t even aware they were young by dragon standards, so she explained what she knew about dragons aging extremely slowly, their need for a hoard of jewels and precious metals to be able to live to their full life expectancy when they got older, and even the need to consume jewels and metal to maintain proper growth rate and scale durability.

“You really mean that I can grow that huge?” Schmitt asked incredulously.

“Torch was a rare thing, but going by the dragons I met in Manehattan…” Pulp interjected. “… You can reasonably expect to be at least three times as tall as you currently are by the time you turn two hundred.”

“Two… hundred…” Schmitt’s face fell.

“Rather young by dragon standards I’d say, must be the young adult range for them.” Cheese said. “It’s about that time they all start their hoard. Before then they’re a bit more nomadic in their lifestyle.”

“How long does a dragon actually get to live?” Schmitt asked.

“Depends on the hoard. Some of the biggest ones are millennia old; most live for around six centuries. I could be wrong of course; the old ones don’t like ponies much and are basically hermits so it’s hard to get a word out of them.”

Schmitt may have raised her eyeridges when she heard about how griffons reproduced, but she had to admit having your life expectancy determined by what basically was the size of your bank account... that was something else. Of course that also explained the compulsions she had discovered during an expedition way back in Antwerp. The diamonds still sat in a satchel underneath her mattress along with her now irrelevant wedding band.

But eating them? Seriously?! She thought what happened in Rosenborg was just Artyom going berserk, not biology at work.

The presentation was immediately followed by magic lessons for the handful of unicorns on both crews, as well as the first batch of flight lessons.

Cheese and Sidereal took their group out on the main deck for training. The Doctor really doubted much would be achieved that evening but she could show them the basics on how to use spells. She only took the unicorns along because she had honest-to-Luna absolutely no clue how creatures like sphinxes did their magic. She was familiar with horns, not whatever the winged felines used as their foci.

Also she was pretty sure there were more races that could actually do magic, she just wasn’t able to remember which since there were so many.

The parrots? Nah, they would know with celebrities like Celaeno frequently appearing in Equestria.

Plus, magic training was hard enough to do correctly that the batch of trainees she had been saddled with was enough. No need to add the sphinxes to the lot.

She had them form a circle around a specific item to try and feel out the magic it emitted. The item in question was nothing special, just a mere magic lantern that ran on ambient magic. She explained them that unicorn magic was based around their metabolism’s capacity to process ambient magic at a higher rate than other species. The processed magic then flowed towards their horns which, with rigorous and careful training, were then able to bend the magic into spells for various purposes.

She showed them some basic spells like a simple magic missile fired out of her horn and a light orb that floated above her and followed her. The magic missile was the most basic form of combat magic she could think of, one even fillies often managed to master.

Of course, colts and fillies grew up with their horns in a world where magic was considered normal so they had that advantage going for them.

Technically, the mage sight spell she used was a simple cast too. The catch was… it had a stupidly high learning curve. It required meticulous control for unicorns to actually be able to draw conclusions from what they saw because of how you had to tune it back and forth from coarse to fine, toy with the sensitivity, filter out the ‘noise’ and all that jazz… Most unicorns didn’t even know it existed until well into their adulthood, let alone know how to use it properly.

Good thing she was an academic.

Still, mage sight would have been overkill to feel the flow of a mana lamp from up close. That they could do just by focusing and closing their eyes. They first needed to see it before she could go on and show them how to warp spells with their horn. This was more than mere levitation (which was an instinctive trait), and her experience in magical fields of study had showed her numerous times what recklessness could lead to.

“Can you pick it up for an instant Cheese? I need to check something.” Sidereal called to her teammate.

She distanced herself from the circle of unicorns sitting on the deck and proceeded to take a good hard look at the ongoing flow of magic.

Sure, the magic was similar to the energies she had grown accustomed with during her career… but there was also this completely alien… flavor to it. Staring at her 'pupils' through a magic lens made her keenly aware of it.

She could see the familiar signature of Cheese Cake near them. The usual for an Equestrian creature: warps magic around it, takes it in, releases the excess slowly.

But the former humans were different. They did process the magic field around them, but comparing them to Cheese was like comparing a candle to a light bulb. They actually produced magic of their own. It radiated off of them like a tinted lamp, familiar, but definitely alien.

And that, according to Equestrian magic theory, should be strictly impossible. Magic was an ambient thing, a field, an energy that encompassed the whole wide world… but it was not made by beings. They processed it like air.

In fact… her head turned towards a pair of hippogriffs on the dock which she saw just in time as they dove in the water, transforming mid-air. Even they produced magic as well, and in their case they clearly used it to turn into seaponies, something the ones on Equus definitely weren’t able to do without the help of a magically-imbued artifact.

She was now certain her superiors had omitted a lot of details during the preparatory briefings. The motive behind it might be benevolent… but it didn’t make it any easier when she had to repeat what she had been told to the likes of Captain Gerig.

Dispelling her magesight, Sidereal nickered in annoyance. She felt like a tool… but she was a Doctor for a reason. She could think her way through that situation and… maybe even work something under the table with Captain Prateek to actually discover what in Tartarus was going on on Earth.

One of the pupils around the mana lamp got carried away and accidentally summoned a powerful light orb to the surprise of Cheese who fell back on her haunches.

Right, she had a lesson to go back to. A quick blast of her horn cancelled the light orb and she separated the unicorn (a young teal stallion with a paintbrush for a Cutie Mark, one of the Rhine’s cadets) from the rest of the group.

“How in the blazes does this even meet safety standards?” Aleksei called out.

“You’re a flyer!” Micha yelled several containers below her. “Just open your wings and they will catch you. It’s safe for us, just mind your landing and aim for the landing pad.”

They did have to revise their training procedure a bit, but now that they had the expertise of trained flyers in the way of two pegasi, it actually turned out that the initial method wasn’t so bad.

Once the Pegasus got over the hype of seeing the bridge of a modern vessel (and that took well over an hour and dozens of questions), Radiant had given them an actual explanation on how winged species managed to stay airborne.

It wasn’t physics. Their wings were too small for that, regardless of species. Instead, they used ambient magic to gain lift and remain aloft.

That didn’t change much in practice, except for the ability to do things Micha was pretty sure normal physics didn’t allow like flying backwards or hover without much effort, something Gust seemed to do a lot.

The weirdest thing was how little downdraft the Ranger produced when he did that.

“Are you sure I won’t plummet to my death? ‘cause I don’t really think I want to do that!” Aleksei insisted, talons clenched around the edge of the green container she was standing on.

“Quit yappin’ and get flappin’!” Boris bellowed at her.

And in a move that surprised absolutely no one, the goshawk griffon came up behind the hippogriff and tossed her off the stack.

Admittedly, the shrill cry that escaped her beak was pretty funny. Aleksei’s wings instinctively opened the moment she went airborne and slowed down her fall. The light green hippogriff screamed all the way down until she careened in the soft pile of materials they used as landing pad.

“See? No need to be afraid, your wings will catch you.” Boris chuckled.

“Ej ellē!” Was all that came from the landing pad.

Andy sauntered over to the fallen hippogriff and looked at her curiously for a few seconds before the griffon chick’s short attention span deemed the Second Engineer uninteresting and she went back to playing with her toys in a pile of cotton next to Micha.

Aleksei wasn’t the only trainee of the group that evening. After much discussion with Vadim and Micha, the two pegasi had decided they would start the first training phase with only part of the quadruped flyers. The sphinxes, gargoyles and dragons had been postponed for later, which still left them with a significant amount of griffons and hippogriffs, and the two batponies.

Gust and Radiant first had all of them jump off of a mid-sized container stack to assess their skills. Most of them barely knew how to fly and could only glide down inelegantly, with the exception of Micha, Boris and Vadim who were somewhat better.

By the pegasi’s reckoning, the three of them were the closest to actually flying. Radiant waited until they all jumped once before beginning a short speech about the matters of control. The glide method of training had two goals: on the surface layer they had to get an understanding of how the magic flowed around and through their wings and learn how to manipulate it, as well as learning the importance of limb and tail positioning. Beneath all that, gliding also strengthened their wings. It wasn’t really about physical muscles, but they did need to exercise their wings so the magic would be strong enough to keep them airborne.

Taking Andy for an example, Radiant explained that most species were born with their wings and gradually gained power as they matured to the point where they managed to take off late in their childhood. The griffon cub playing near them under the careful surveillance of Micha and Vadim would get to do that the regular way, as was healthy for cubs her age. The sailors on the other hoof… Radiant was forced to admit the gliding method was one that was frequently utilized for the reeducation of injured pegasi.

There were more things to be said too of course. Each species had their own specificities in how they flew like how pegasi were better flyers at high altitude and often managed better cruise speed. Griffons were better divers and could climb pretty quickly generally speaking, with some measure of variation depending on which type of bird their avian half was.

As for the hippogriffs, them being half seabird meant they often performed better above the water. They could often master techniques like dynamic soaring or transition from water to air and back.

And then they had the batponies, who were the masters of maneuverability. Like bats, the bones in their wings could bend and were gifted with an impressive range of motion that allowed them to pull off tricks only the best flyers of other species could manage. It wasn’t that uncommon for them to be able to fly full speed through a forest, something only matched by griffons with specialized avian halves like harpy eagles.

“Alright peeps, let’s move on to the bulk of the training and climb up those stacks. The more you glide today, the faster you will be actually flying.” Vadim told the group, all assembled sailors bursting into motion.

“Vadim is it? May I have a word?” Radiant asked behind the griffon.

“Of course. Something the matter?”

“Sort of I guess? It’s just, me and my group we were curious about…” The Pegasus waved his wing in the general direction of Andy, who was now play-fighting with Micha.

“Not my kid.” The Ukrainian told flatly.

“Really? She’s your spit image…” He wondered with one hoof running through his mane. “How?”

“No idea. Micha found her on the other side of the Oresund a few days ago and…” He shrugged. “No parents in sight apparently. Can’t leave a cub unattended you know?”

“That’s noble of you. I know how it can be for griffons.” Radiant nodded.

“What?”

Radiant’s muzzle opened and close once before he muttered a little ‘ah, right’ under his breath and faced the grey falcon griffon with an awkward smile.

“I must ask, have you experienced any particularly strong um… instincts, for a lack of a better word?”

Vadim’s mind flashed back to the impulses that had spurred him into a relationship with Micha. His pale grey feathers barely managed to conceal the blush that spread around his beak.

“I may have, why the question?”

“You see, there is this thing about griffons some like to call their ‘primal instincts’. In modern society that only leads to them being known as somewhat… rough and impulsive to others. No real harm there, but… there is the danger of ferals.”

“Ferals?”

“Wild griffons. See, ponies need a community to thrive, a herd. For griffons… some deem it to just be a nice bonus. Griffonstone has laws designed to limit the growth of the feral population, and it’s basically forbidden for griffons to become hermits, but it still happens sometimes. They will disappear into the wilderness since it makes little difference to them, and while the parents are still sane, their offspring isn’t. Then you get the ferals, griffons that haven’t been raised in society. They do have the intelligence of sapient beings, but they’re no more than feral animals.”

“You’re telling me this could have happened to Andy.”

“Had she been left alone, most likely. How did Micha find her?”

“Roaming the streets and eating pigeons. I can see how this could have evolved…” He sighed. “How do I avoid this?”

“I don’t think you should be afraid of it. Not with your current lifestyle.” Radiant told him. “I may not… approve of it for obvious reasons, but it is considered normal in griffon society to go on hunts and outings. Nothing to be afraid of with that. What you need to be on the lookout for, is individuals that start isolating themselves, they’re the most likely to deem civilization isn’t worth the bother and go off in the wilderness.”

“Are they dangerous?”

“Not to griffons. Maybe not to hippogriffs, but we have no record of such an encounter…” The pegasus shrugged with his wings. “But to ponies and anything else? They see us as prey.”

Vadim paused for a second, staring at Micha and Andy.

“You know this was a fluke right? We may have found Andy, but there is an unfathomable amount of kids… cubs, chicks, foals, calves or whatever, they will just… reappear out of thin air, in foreign bodies and with their parents gone.”

“It’s a tragedy.” Radiant’s face fell and his wings slumped. “I’ll give you that yes… but that doesn’t mean nothing should be done about it. Look at you, first thing you and your mate did was basically adopting the kid. I don’t know much about humans, but with that kind of attitude you’re on the right track.”

“Thanks.” The Ukrainian nodded curtly before moving on to continue his training.

The training lasted for a whole two hours. Vadim and Micha alternated keeping an eye on Andy and even went as far as helping the cub get onto a container and do a bit of gliding herself, the young griffon laughing happily all the way down to the landing pad and raising the spirits of everyone around.

Nobody had actually any idea what life Andy had before they found her. In fact they didn’t even know if she was a girl before the Event, though fortunately she didn’t appear overly concerned about it. The fact she wasn’t old enough to talk either made it hard to guess. Micha tried her best to keep the child busy so she didn’t have time to dwell on it too much.

That didn’t work all the time. It was very clear to her caretakers how much she held on to her plush toy and blanket, and Micha was also pretty sure she had spent her first night on Amandine crying in her cabin.

She would have to talk to Vadim about it.

The grey falcon griffon had actually achieved the most progress during that specific session. For a minute, his erratic flapping managed to keep him at the same altitude before the effort wore him out and he was forced to land, panting from the exertion.

That got Gust to take him aside and start giving him hints on how to improve while Radiant kept an eye on the rest of the group.

“You flap too much, that tires you out and the erratic flapping makes it harder to stay balanced.” The gambeson wearing Ranger told him. “You try so hard that your wings are not properly synced, you noticed?”

“Yeah.” Vadim nodded. “Makes me bank to the left and start turning without wanting to.”

“Exactly! Tomorrow I want you to take it easy, you’re not a hummingbird remember?”

“Will do.”

Not a quarter of an hour later, one grey coated Pegasus found himself giddily waiting by Amandine’s stern ramp. Radiant could barely contain himself, that minotaur named Angelo had actually promised to give him a tour of the engine room along with any of his teammates that were interested.

Only Pulp actually. Gust claimed to be too tired and wanted to go catch some sleep in an actual bed, while the two unicorns of the group were still busy with their own trainees.

“You’re really into tech ain’t you?” Pulp asked.

“Well duh.” Radiant said. “Part of my job with airships really, and now I get to see stuff that Equestria only ever dreamed about, put in use at a scale beyond what our biggest yards can produce.” He hopped from hoof to hoof and casually did a flip using his wings. “It’s just… buck! Why are you interested by the way?”

“Meh, they got plenty of small steamers in Manehattan.” Pulp Orange shrugged. “Never got to see the insides of one, not even those that carried the family’s cargo.”

“Your family’s?”

“Well, duh, where do you think the Orange name comes from?” The Earth Pony looked at him. “Even after the feud with the Apples’ branch of the tree, we still have our bit of economical clout.”

“Well yeah, that made the headlines. It’s just…” The Pegasus shrugged with his wings. “Thought it was a coincidence really. Is it really that bad nowadays?”

“Tense I’d say.” Pulp huffed. “Many don’t like the idea of splitting a family over money matters… but now they got their territory and we have ours. Manehattan, Fillydelphia and Trottinggham are ours to conduct business in; they got Ponyville, Baltimare and Dodge Junction.”

“Wait a bucking second, didn’t you tell us you were scheduled to work in Baltimare as an agronomy consultant after this expedition?”

“With the Apples. The journalists may say whatever they want, but we are trying to mend this whole mess.”

“Makes me realize I really should hang in Equestria more.” Radiant commented dejectedly. “Sometimes with my job as navigator I wind up away from the homeland for so long it barely feels like home anymore.”

“Do tell.”

“It’s subtle really; I just… pick up some mannerisms. Fish for instance, pegasi can eat that but we just don’t in Cloudsdale. In Mount Aris though? Barely raises any questions.”

“Ever tried to take some holidays? Or even just pick up a contract that actually stays in Equestria for once.” Pulp offered. “Stick with the herd for once.”

“Herd? Gimme a break with the ground pounder talk, us pegasi, we flock.”

“Whatever suits you birdie.”

A thudding sound coming from the staircase told them their guide was coming. Minotaurs were never particularly stealthy, and Angelo was no exception with the noise his large hooves made as he went down the stairs. He emerged into the car deck with the upper half of his coveralls tied around his waist and a large thermos of coffee in one hand.

“Heads up ponies, hope I didn’t make you wait for too long. How was training?”

“Interesting. Andy’s a cute kid.” Radiant replied.

“That she is. Sorry about the delay by the way, I got held up upstairs with a bit of paperwork.” The grey furred minotaur told them. “Ready for the engine room? Hope you don’t mind heat and noise too much ‘cause it gets steamy down there in the summer, even with just the one generator running.”

And this is how the Greek led the two Equestrians down in the engine room proper. A particularly giddy Radiant followed him down the steep stair/ladder that dove beneath Amandine’s car decks. They went past the office part of the control room since the minotaur doubted Pulp would have much interest for the schematics and manuals he could show them there.

Carlos was there sitting behind a console in the control room. The white cockatoo didn’t have much work since they were just running their electricity production on a single generator at the moment, so he was just stuck there for a couple hours making sure nothing bad happened and periodically recording values like temperature, rpm and output in the logbook.

It was thus rather understandable that the Filipino would be reading a magazine whilst running his watch.

“Everything in order?” Angelo asked.

“Yeah, had a bit of a worry earlier but it was just a bad contact on some of the main switchboard’s sensors.”

“Rewired already?”

“Running smoothly, written down in the logbook and signed.” Carlos said, patting the tool pouch on his belt. “It’s my bad in any case; I installed the bloody thing in the first place. Those two the visitors?” He waved a talon at the two ponies behind Angelo.

“Eeyup. Radiant, Pulp, meet Carlos, our resident electrician.”

The two visitors exchanged greetings with the Filipino before Angelo went into an explanation on how they ran things there.

Amandine was a four-year-old vessel, meaning that she benefitted from the latest technologies available to commercial vessels.

The first thing that meant was that they basically were able to run everything from the confines of the control room. They had the command consoles in front of the observation window to run most of the stuff, which were also equipped with CCTV cameras to look around the engine room and at some subsections they couldn’t see from the control room’s window.

They also had the main switchboard’s controls in the control room to manage electricity production on board. Angelo explained how it allowed them to direct power to certain systems and how the base system was equipped with ingrained priorities in case of damage to the installation. Without input, the ship would cut off power from non-essential areas like the accommodation, kitchen and car decks to maintain power in key systems like the bridge and servers.

Amandine was equipped with four 1MW diesel generators to produce electricity when she was anchored or in port. They were also designed to provide power to the bow thruster when the ship was maneuvering without stealing power from the main engine.

Speaking of which, the main engine was the thing that got the most attention from the two visitors, both looking at it in awe from the observation window.

Not without reason either. The Wärtsilä 16V46F that powered Amandine was considered extremely powerful for a ship her size. At its maximum output of 600 rpm, the sixteen cylinders fed more than 19MW of power into the switchboard. They didn’t use that speed frequently, but when push came to shove Amandine could reach 25 knots. Not bad for a merchant vessel.

The massive engine weighed over 230 tons, spread over a length of nearly thirteen meters that completely dwarfed the little ponies looking at it. In fact it was so tall that they could see the walkways wrapping around the engine block to allow the crew to access it.

After his little explanation, Angelo passed them each a headset to go through the airlock and into the ER proper for a tour. They were as much of a protection as an aid for him because of the integrated radio.

Yeah, tearing your vocal chords to shout over the noise of the ER was a thing of the past, hail technology.

Angelo stopped them next to a massive blue steel assembly connected to the main engine that fed into a cluster of grey boxes covered in switches and gauges.

“That here is where the magic happens. See, the engine doesn’t actually directly turns the propellers. It’s diesel-electric. The engine's power is converted into electricity by the central generator which feeds it into the main switchboard.” He told them, pointing at the grey boxes. “The switchboard in turn transfers that power towards a pair of electric motors connected to each propeller shaft.” He went on, pointing towards two areas on either side of the room where massive red boxes connected to the extremity of the shafts.

“The switchboard also does more than that. It’s the central position where most of the transformers are. Part of the power is converted and taken to high voltage appliances like the radars or industrial appliances all over the engine room for auxiliary systems, and then some is spared for ‘domestic’ power consumption in the accommodation. The diesel generators are connected too, so technically we could start them all to run the main propulsion… but they’re not very good at it.” He snorted.

Walking over to one of the shaft’s motors, he pointed at a green structure connected to its tip.

“That’s one of the pumps for the controllable pitch propeller system. One per shaft. See the shafts, they’re actually hollow. The propeller outside at the extremity is fitted so that we can change the orientation of the blades depending on our needs by applying hydraulic pressure on it.”

“What happens if the pump breaks down?” Radiant asked, one primary feather pressing against his headset’s button.

“Good question. The propeller blades are balanced in such a way that without pressure, they fall into ‘half-ahead’ position, meaning we can still limp back to port in case of breakdown. Makes maneuvering much harder though, and it screws with the autopilot because the pitch control is used to balance thrust between port and starboard. It’s much easier to adjust thrust via pitch control than by changing shaft rpm. For instance when we maneuver, changing thrust from forward to backwards can’t be done easily by stopping a shaft. With pitch control? Keep them running at speed, and then we can adjust pitch from full ahead to full astern in a matter of seconds. No thrust needed? Then we put them in neutral.”

The tour went on to show them the many systems that coursed beneath the surface of the vessel, from the sewage system to the desalination plant including the cooling circuits. The amount of different subsystems quickly lost him Pulp, though Radiant hung on with rapt fascination, always managing to ask him relevant and interesting questions.

“Buck…” Radiant sighed as he hung his headset after their tour. “How did you humans get to such a point where you would get ships like that? I mean, screw science-fiction and spaceships, this one is enough.”

Angelo laughed.

“I know the feel. You know, a hundred years ago we were still running on barebones steam engines, and a hundred years before that sails were the main propulsion system. All things aside, this escalated pretty quickly; we got thousands of years of sailing and rowing, but less than two hundred years worth of actual engines.”

“Really? That fast? What in Tartarus happened?”

Angelo raised an eyebrow at the Tartarus thing but put it aside for now.

“War happened probably. We tend to do that a lot. It starts off easy, your neighbors get better warships so you upgrade yours and it all escalates from there.”

“Bit oversimplified there Angie’” Carlos commented.

“’cause I’m fit to give history lessons?”

“Maybe not… but may I offer an idea to you lot?”

“Shoot, it’s not like I have any.”

“Civilization 5. Show them a quick game; that should give a quick appreciation of human history.” The Filipino cockatoo offered. “I know you got it on your computer.”

“You know it’s a game, not a history book right?” Angelo tilted his head, mindful not to snag something with his horns.

“I know, but it’s got the Civilopedia and an actual human to set things straight.” Carlos insisted before calling out to the two ponies. “You guys know of video games? It’s like a board game but on a computer.”

“I kinda like board games.” Pulp said.

And that settled it, Radiant and Pulp would get to witness a game of Civilization.

Later though.

Author's Note

On the list of not-so-bright ideas:

Using a videogame of dubious accuracy to teach aliens human history

Teach them the sacred art of Powerpoint-Fu (also known as: the dreaded safety brief)

While I can find a lot of data on the actual Amandine, info on her propulsion was hidden behind a paywall. For the record, the Wartsila 46 engine she's equipped with is also found in a diesel-electric configuration on board of M/V Symphony of the Seas (although of course, the latter's installed power is far beyond that of a workhorse like Amandine). Originally I didn't plan to have her run on diesel-electric but that system should prove more flexible than a dual engine/dual propeller system with mechanical transmission.

For those wondering, the racial compatibility sheet Cheese referred to in the briefing is the one I made a blog post on (second sheet). That's the data I'll be following for 'alien' biology.

On a more meta level, I have no idea why but somehow I got views on my buffer chapters even though I didn't hit 'publish' yet. Weird...

Chapter 34: Three Crowns Fort

Soon after sunset, Sidereal had a couple of her team’s saddlebags brought to the quays alongside Amandine. Out of the large canvas bags came some intricate brass and copper parts that looked like they came straight out of steampunk fiction.

“Care to explain what this is all for?” Dilip asked her, eyeing the bits she kept pulling out of the bags with genuine curiosity.

“Communication. With Equus that is. Reports are hard to send, and return is even harder. Without an apparatus such as this one I’m assembling, the energy required to cross the divide is so high even a trained unicorn wouldn’t be able to overcome it without draining nearly all their energy with someone acting as a beacon on the other side. Think of this like… a signal booster I guess? Before our own expedition I know they sent a couple teams with only unicorns to avoid having to bring the equipment, but it was just too inefficient considering they had volunteers from the other tribes.” The red-furred mare explained.

Using her telekinesis, the Doctor started putting together the various parts and pieces. Five small tripods thus came into existence, all carefully arrayed in a circle. She also added a central piece to the construct, this one slightly bigger than the rest and with a lot of mobile parts and lenses jutting out at odd angles out of the thin bell-shaped brass plating that made up its 'core'. It also had an opening towards the top, which revealed a small copper receptacle recessed inside the machine.

With a flicker of her horn, the unicorn conjured a measuring tape and started checking the position of each tripod, mumbling distractedly as she adjusted their position.

“While I agree that in essence, it’s more practical to use this rather than a group of unicorns pooling their magic together… this isn’t exactly what I’d call easy.” Sidereal commented once she was sure the tripods were set up the right way.

“Because if you do the slightest mistake, you’ll send your report to the wrong planet. Typical.” Dilip crossed his arms.

“It can be capricious, yes. Particularly when it comes disassembled like this one, but we did manage to send our first report while we were in Sweden.”

Out of another saddlebag, she lifted a small wooden box along with a notebook. The box opened with a quiet ‘click’ to reveal five small engraved gems, a vial of white powder and a couple chalks.

“Salted chalk, silver nitrate and artificial foci.” Sidereal explained as she floated the gems into slots at the top of each tripod and the white powder into the central device. “If you need to ask, the gems are an approximation of a unicorn’s horn made to draw power from their surroundings, that’s what allows me to use the device without burning my own magic. The salted chalk is for drawing the summoning circle… I could use regular salt, but the chalk makes it more convenient.”

Dilip cocked his head to the side ever so slightly.

“So, on the departure point you need to draw the circle? I’m sorry if that sounds dumb Doctor, but all the monster-related circles we discussed earlier, they were burned into the ground, not drawn.”

“Circles that I have included in the report and data request I’ll be sending to my superiors… but they do need to be drawn at first." She paused to flick her mane to the side. "The arrival point is always burned, as is the departure point after the first use. Doesn’t prevent it from being used again though.”

“Used again? You mean we could theoretically reuse the demonic circles we found all over the place?”

“Technically yes. It would be incredibly stupid and suicidal to do that… but yes.” She nodded.

Sidereal quickly reviewed the circle she had drawn around her device, comparing it to a picture in a notebook. Satisfied with the result, the mare clasped the book shut with a satisfied smirk.

“While reusing the demonic circles is viable, no offense to your sailors but your capabilities are not sufficient that we should willingly head into the lair of what most likely is a dark mage… at best. Last time I reported to them about the monster we faced in Sweden they told me they had started some research on the matter, so hopefully with the added data and pictures you’ve given me we should get some actual answers by tomorrow.” She told the Captain as she began piling her paperwork inside the summoning circle.

Once everything was in place, Sidereal told him to take a few steps back. Muzzle scrunched in concentration, the red mare started weaving a spell that made her horn light up like a rainbow. An orb of light spawned midair above the center point of her contraption, slowly falling down into the central piece's receptacle.

It stayed put for a couple seconds, crackling sounds coming from the contraption and pants of exertion from the Doctor. Finally, she let go of her spell and the crackling ceased at once.

The device in the middle of the summoning circle let out a small puff of smoke before its mobile parts started spinning wildly. Dilip could see the white chalk on the ground slowly start to turn black and emit a burning smell. The five foci on tripods lit up all at once, each firing a beam of light towards a point midair above the central piece which lit up like a second sun.

Now in complete awe at the sight, the Captain witnessed a shield of sort envelop the entire summoning circle and hide the magical contraption from sight. A second later, the shield flashed and disappeared.

The contraption and the circle were still there, but the Doctor’s report was gone.

One paw rubbing at his eyes to wipe away the aftereffects of the light show, Dilip let out an impressed whistle. The smell caused by the contraption lingered in his canine nostrils, though not really as unpleasant to him as some like smoke grenades or welding operations.

“If I still had any doubts about your otherworldly origin, they’re now completely wiped away." The Indian-turned-Diamong-Dog commented. "Is this common technology in your world?”

“Not at all I’m afraid. Few unicorns ever get to practice magic at that level; I am more of an exception to the rule.” She shook her head. “Most unicorns only ever learn a few convenient spells that are relevant to their own industry.”

“All the more impressive then. Now, I don’t want to be rude but I have a lot of work tomorrow and I could use some sleep.” He rolled his shoulders. “Goodnight Doctor.”

Unbeknownst to the two leaders, there was one creature that had seen Sidereal send out her message. And she was not too happy about it.

Initially, she had planned to slowly start manipulating the memories of any crewmen she found roaming around the quays. Sailors were such great fun to toy around with, and the few she had found isolated enough that she could freely look into their heads painted a pretty interesting picture.

So much repressed anger and grudges on this planet. This would have been so easy to exploit. She had even identified two parties she could grind against each other with a mere nudge, the seeds for that were already sowed and ready to be activated in one of them even.

But nooo, those damn Equestrians had to meddle in the affairs of her species once again. Just when they had been offered the opportunity to make a new territory for themselves after being shunned for so long.

She was slowly starting to regret claiming she could do it on her own. Her two sisters should already be halfway across the Baltic by now.

She didn’t worry about being detected as she swam away from the ships to think of a plan. Her blue scales blended in perfectly with the water, not even seaponies would be able to spot her unless she actively went out of her way to be seen.

That had surprised her too, but once she got past that hurdle it actually played into her hoof. Water was her realm, and the transformed hippogriffs were all too easy to isolate and manipulate. Their heads yielded a fair share of useful information as well. How certain parties viewed each other, how heavily armed they were...

And they were heavily armed. There was no way she could take them head-on, not with these... '.50 cals' they had surrounding their ships.

But she had a few aces ready to be played… now what would her patron prefer? Probably getting rid of the Equestrians. The ponies could not be allowed to interfere in their takeover of the planet.

Swimming back to an old sea fort in the middle of the harbor, she hid in the sea grass to bide her time and think of a possible solution to the matter. There was one thing she could do already actually…

The red gem in the middle of her scaly chest lit up with an unnatural glow that revealed some of the small black crystals piercing through her thick skin. A wicked, fanged smile appeared on her muzzle; now she just had to wait and her new thrall would bring her the ponies she wanted.

On the Rhine Forest, Anton jerked slightly all of a sudden, spilling a bit of her beer.

Despite her sitting on a bar stool in the ratings’ rec room, none of the hen’s shipmates spotted her eyes flash a dull red for a brief second.

“Eh there Anton, don’t tip over just yet it’s still early evening.” Mikhail joked in Ukrainian, the purple dragon giving her a small tap on her back.

“Nah… I’m good. Just nervous is all.” She shook her head. “Had a weird feeling for a second.”

She looked across the length of the bar towards the other sailors there. The Rhine benefitted from having a rather well furnished recreation room thanks in no small part to her size, and her crew was all too glad to make use of it after a long day of work.

The rectangular room was situated in the middle of the accommodation near the bow of the Rhine, just above the waterline and next to the mess hall. For the sailors’ comfort, the normally dull walls and floor had been decorated with laminate flooring and padded blue wall panels. Someone had even installed some purple LED lights around the bar and on the walls at some point, giving a light, refreshing atmosphere to the room that compensated for its lack of portholes and natural light.

Among the various amenities in the room, the bar would have been the main attraction for most. There was little harm in knocking down a few pints after work considering they were moored, and they all knew there would be Hell to be paid for anyone who dared to get wasted and cause a stir. Showing up drunk for duty… bad idea now that they regularly used weapons, and the ship's two bosuns made sure they got the memo.

Which was a bit odd to witness considering one of the two had been 'kidified' into the form of a young griffon hen... but Izaak's predicament was beside the point.

The few crewmen that weren’t making use of the bar were seated on the couple couches arranged in a U-shape on the other end of the room, all playing videogames on the recently upgraded (as in: looted) widescreen TV.

Of course, there were some other things as well. Fictions books shared the shelves with DVD boxes near the TV, and they even had a table football and a couple tables to play cards, but they didn’t get as much use of them as the bar or the TV.

“Weird feeling? I feel you…” Mikhail knocked down his beer and leaned over the edge of the bar to refill his glass at the tap. “Those Equestrians really dropped the bomb on us this afternoon. Not that I’d complain ‘bout living that long but…”

“Wasn’t talking about that.” She shook her head. “Must be all the work we’ve been doing recently.”

“That I can understand. Lots of grinding and sanding on your side?”

“Damn right, I can steel feel the needlegun in my talons.” She flicked said appendages for emphasis. “But I had this thought about home you know…”

“Really? You of all people would start thinking about it now? Of all times?” The purple dragon inquired, one of his bronze webbed ears tilting down.

“Laugh all you want… but my mother went to the Maidan protests you know. It’s just the timeframe, and now I saw the two Russians on Amandine…” Her grip tightened around her beer. “All these things they did to us.”

“Anton, don’t.” Mikhail said. “It’s no use worrying about it anymore.”

“To you, maybe.” She glared at the dragon.

“Not to me in particular. You’re from Lviv, last I checked there were some of us that are a little bit more involved in this conflict than you. Christ, I heard there was someone from Donetsk on Amandine.” He pointed out. “And I don’t think they have as much of a problem with it.”

Once more, Anton’s eyes flashed and caused the snow leopard griffon to flinch.

“They tore our country apart!” She cried out.

“Not them, they’re just two guys who happen to be Russian. If anything, the Eurocrats have as much of a hand in that as the Kremlin does. In any case, it’s of no importance at the moment.” He replied calmly.

That made Anton stand up from the bar stool and abandon her beer.

“To me it is important Mikhail.” She pointed a talon between his eyes. “And if you’re willing to let go of all the lives…” She stopped for a brief second as her head jerked. “… of all the lives this whole fiasco took?! Screw you!”

And with that she stormed off in anger, most likely back to her cabin. This whole conversation was a bit puzzling to Mikhail; Anton hadn’t ever come across to him as particularly interested in anything that went on back home in Ukraine.

Probably just the beer talking. He still didn’t know his new limits after the transformation, so he doubted she did either.

Good thing he didn’t mention how the Russian griffon seemed to have eyes for her.

Flight training had been rather productive Micha’d say. Sure, both she and Vadim had been kept somewhat busy by keeping an eye on Andy, but that didn’t stop them from progressing ahead of the other flyers on the crew.

With Vadim trailing behind her, she walked down the passageway to the passenger cabin they had assigned to Andy. The cub was fast asleep on her back clutching her blanket and plush dolphin, safely nestled between her wings.

All that playing and a few (well monitored of course) tries at gliding had sapped the energy out of her.

Well, to her two caretakers that meant she wouldn’t be sneaking out of her room tonight.

They had already decorated Andy’s cabin a bit to make her more comfortable. A couple DVD’s containing children’s shows, toys retrieved from the store she had taken refuge in, and even a couple sets of clothes they had made for her after they were forced to ditch the destroyed t-shirt they found her in.

Vadim had even managed to find her her own set of themed bed sheets and some posters so she wouldn’t feel too sad.

For all that was worth… the grey falcon griffon feared the chick would grow messed up if she stayed here. Neither he nor Micha were her actual parents, and a merchant vessel was a poor place to raise a kid. What she needed was something more stable than that.

He carefully picked Andy up and off Micha’s back and deposited her on the bed. Wouldn’t want to wake her up now…

“You got watch tonight?” Vadim whispered in Polish.

“Nah, I start tomorrow at eight.” Micha replied, watching her mate tuck the kid under the sheets. “You?”

“I got the 0-4 tonight, so I’ll just go watch something in the Officers’ Lounge for an hour or two.” The Ukrainian explained.

Just as he was finishing putting the little griffon to bed, she unconsciously grasped his forearm with both claws in her sleep, one happy smile on her yellow beak.

“Welp, that just happened…” He muttered under his breath.

He tried to pull the appendage away from the kid, but she was hanging on tight and he was pretty sure if he tried to pry her talons open he would wake her up. A tired trill escaped the grey falcon griffon's hooked beak.

“What’s wrong?” Micha asked, already halfway through the door.

Vadim raised one free talon to shush her and motioned towards his stuck arm. Micha just chuckled and shook her head ruefully.

“Let’s see, kid’s basically a cat…” She whispered in his ear, teasingly poking his wing with a talon. “… and everyone knows when a cat’s sitting on you you’re as good as stuck.” She mused. “Half-cat, half-kid… you ain’t moving tonight buddy ‘cause I’m not putting her back to sleep.” She smiled.

“How kind of you to volunteer to pick up my watch.” Vadim smiled.

“Wait a sec-“

“Tut-tut.” He shushed her. “Don’t wanna wake the kid do ya? I’ll be taking your morning watch instead, ok?”

The griffon hen (yeah, the ponies had told them it was the proper word earlier, males were called 'toms' apparently) rolled her eyes and gave Vadim a light slap on the back of his head, much to his amusement.

Resolving himself to his fate as a glorified hugging pillow, the Ukrainian kicked off his steel-toed shoes and lied down on the bed next to Andy, mindful not to wake her up. Micha glowered at him for a second before making her way out of the cabin.

Eh, it was her idea to rescue and adopt the kid after all.

Odd as it seemed, Vadim gave the kid a fond look before draping a wing over her sleeping form and laying his head down on a fish-shaped pillow.

They destroyed your country.

She just couldn’t sleep. She had gone back to her cabin to catch some rest and sleep off the beer. Much tossing and turning later and with one Hell of a headache, Anton was forced to concede defeat and had gone out to get some fresh air.

For some reason, she had no recollection of how exactly she had gone from her cabin to the quays except for a blurry haze mixed with the pain in her head.

Now they’re getting away with it.

Her tail lashed out and she jerked, partly leaning against a green container near the Rhine. Her thoughts kept going back to the Ukrainian conflict despite her best attempts at thinking of something else.

“Kurwa!” The snow leopard griffon’s limbs failed her for an instant and she fell down in a heap.

Her mind whited out for a second, and much to her annoyance her memory conjured images she had seen on the news before the Event struck. Riots on Maidan Square, Donetsk, Sebastopol, childhood friends fighting each other over split opinions...

You can’t let them get away scot free.

When did she get to the other side of the docks again? She tried to look back towards the ships but her body refused to obey her orders. Her limbs carried her to an isolated quay hidden away from sight of the ships.

You WANT revenge.

What in the blazes was happening to her?! Anton desperately tried to wrench her gaze away from the water...

They took your little brother.

All resistance fell as her memory ripped out images from a carefully quarantined part of her mind. A bloody, broken body lay on the cold pavement of a street somewhere in Eastern Ukraine, but with its face still very much recognisable.

Tears soaked the feathers on her face as memories of her youth with Yakiv were conjured by whatever force was tormenting her. She could remember his smiling face when he had brought a stray pup home, way back when they were kids.

Why did that idealistic moron have to go to Eastern Ukraine and get himself killed?!

Avenge him.

Stricken by an artificial grief her normal self had already surpassed, she finally relented her grip on her mind.

The manipulative force made her regret it immediately. Her true self was immediately pushed away and shoved in the deep, dark recesses of her mind to make room for something far more sinister. Anton wasn’t at the helm anymore.

To the outside observer, the eyes of the griffon turned a dull red before she rose up slowly in a robotic fashion. Her tail, which had been lashing and trashing for the past couple minutes, was now utterly still.

It was three in the morning when the possessed griffon headed for the armory.

“Hey, you got some fire?” Boris asked the centaur that was guarding the checkpoint with him.

The centaur happily complied and passed him a lighter for his cigarette. The height difference between him and the Russian forced him to lean down with his humanoid half, something which keenly reminded Boris of how much closer to the ground he was as a quadruped.

He didn’t clearly understand the logic with centaurs. Sure there were some on the Rhine, but their origin didn’t make much sense to him. Most came from Liberia (take one shot for shipping companies using cheap labour) like the one whose lighter he was using, but others came from literally all over Europe with little apparent logic, and they didn’t have much shared ancestry either.

Some species actually made sense, if only a little. Minotaurs? All Greek. Griffons and gargoyles? Eastern Europe, mostly. Hippogriffs hailed from archipelagos (like Indonesia and the Philippines). In the rare cases where they didn’t, at least there was some colonial ancestry or holiday adultery involved.

In most cases, there was a pattern. Not with the centaurs save for a vague idea they spanned all over Europe and seemingly south of the Sahara.

The centaur by his side went by the name of Imani and from what he told him, he was a rating in the Rhine’s barge department. Kinda new to the job too.

Contrarily to centaur Officers on the Rhine, Imani didn’t cover up his equine half in clothing. Maybe it was out of pride, Boris hadn’t asked but he could have understood the reasoning. After all, he was pretty much built like a draft horse, with rippling muscles underneath his white coat of fur and massive hooves emphasized by the black feathering on his legs.

And just like every centaur, the skin of his humanoid half was somehow red.

They were only guarding the smaller checkpoint of the two, which meant they only needed three sailors to keep it secure. The third guard with them was a Filipino hippogriff sitting on top of a container next to their .50 cal. Not a very talkative guy, but he did keep a tight watch on the approaches.

“Were you there for the aliens’ presentation yesterday?” Boris idly asked as he gave the centaur his lighter back.

“Can’t say I was.” Imani shrugged. “Not enough room in the cafeteria, and I had to keep watch anyway. Did I miss much? I heard they’re giving a second one on the Rhine for those that missed it.”

“Much? That’s not even the beginning lemme tell you. They admitted they didn’t know much about all races, but if half of what they told is true... Man, shit’s crazy. Did you know the dragons, they need to start a hoard at some point?”

“Come again?” Imani tilted his head.

“Like in fairy tales with the dragon capturing a princess and sitting on a pile of gold. They need it if they want to live their full lifespan.”

“But... what? How? That doesn’t make any fucking sense.” The centaur scratched the base of his horns in puzzlement.

“I dunno, magic and shit...” Boris shrugged with his wings. “Hardly anything makes sense anymore, it’s not like I can actually question it.”

“Meh, I’ll need to see it to believe it.” Imani told him.

“Say, mind if I ask you a question?”

“You just did.”

“Very funny.” Boris drawled. “But really, I was just curious, how is it to be...”

“A centaur?” He cut him off.

“Yeah, I figured it can’t be the most practical of things.” Boris took a long drag of his cigarette. “Last I checked ships weren’t meant to carry horses.”

“You ever laid eyes on an actual horse? They’re much bigger than I am. Heck, Doc Delacroix managed to find a weighing scale to fit quadrupeds and I swear to you, there are fatasses heavier than us.” The Liberian stated, one hand patting his own flank.

“Really? How heavy are we talking?”

“Me in particular? 380 kilos, Doc said it’s in the same weight class as the minotaurs.” Imani said, rolling his shoulders slightly to adjust the strap of his machinegun.

“Still sounds heavy.”

“That’s less than half of what you’d expect from an actual draft horse for your information. Still, gotta admit the ergonomics are often at odds with centaurs. Showers and beds? Had to modify those, and relearn how to use stairs as well.”

“Well, at least you’re not crotch height with the bipeds. That gets old real quick.” Boris said, keenly aware of how much shorter he was compared to the tall centaur.

“I’ll tell you what gets old: having difficulties reaching the rear of your own body.” Imani snorted. “We didn’t have to modify the goddamn toilets, but sometimes it really feels like backing up a truck just to get your ass over the bowl. And don’t get me started on the part where you wind up mimicking a contortionist just to wipe your damn ass.”

Boris chuckled.

“Funny thing is... I discovered centaur spines are like an owl’s neck.” He added.

“I call bullshit on that.” The griffon said.

Imani’s only response was to do a 180 with his humanoid half and set down his machinegun on his back, much to Boris’ surprise.

“Now imagine me in that position as I’m aiming my rear end at a toilet bowl. If this isn’t some kind of comedy on a divine scale I’ll eat lawn clippings for a week. Still, nifty trick, would be a hell of a lot harder to maintain basic hygiene if my top half wasn’t so flexible. Shame I can't fap anymore...”

“I’m not sure whether to call this amazing or disgusting.” Boris muttered in Russian, wide eyed.

“I wonder if I can set up my gun with its bipod and fire it from my back.” Imani mused, looking at the gun.

He leaned down and extended the bipod on his own hindquarters, shouldering the gun and aiming down the sights at an unidentified point out at sea. It didn’t look particularly comfortable to Boris. That, and there was something to be said about firing a gun over your own naked ass as you pointed it at whatever foe you were facing.

“I believe we have officially reached past the point of seriousness in this conversation...” Boris stated.

He tossed the butt of his burnt cigarette over to the side and looked up at their hippogriff companion behind the .50 cal. on the container.

“You still awake up there?”

“Wish I wasn’t so I could avoid hearing the shit you two keep spouting.” Was all he heard as a reply.

That got Imani to shake his head.

“You know we don’t have to be serious all of the time right Osvaldo?”

The Filipino hippogriff left his gun for a second to peek down above the edge of his container and sent a scathing glare at the two sailors below.

“I know we don’t, but have you missed the news? Somebody disappeared!”

“Really? Who?” Imani asked.

“Anton did. Turned down for the night and nobody’s seen her ever since. Not even in her cabin.”

Boris immediately perked up at that. If there was someone on the barge carrier he had taken note of, it was the snow leopard/peregrine falcon griffon.

“Who saw her last?” He asked.

“Mikhail apparently. Said she started spouting some stuff about Ukraine and Crimea before she complained about a headache and called it quits.” Osvaldo told them. “But when they sent someone to get her when she failed to show up for duties, her cabin was empty.”

“Wandered off drunk?” Boris guessed.

“Unlikely. She wasn’t that drunk.” Osvaldo replied with a shrug of his wings.

“I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but sober sailors don’t disappear like that. She’s one of the genderswapped folks so...” Imani started and made a slashing motion across his throat.

“Suicide?”

Right then, their walkie-talkies erupted into chatter coming from Amandine. Bart had just done his rounds around the armory. A pistol was missing, along with one mag worth of 5.7mm ammunition. Someone else also reported on the same channel that one of the Rhine’s rubber dinghies had disappeared.

Worse even, was the fact one of the Equestrian unicorns had gone missing when she had gone on a walk around the quays after breakfast.

Whatever the fuck was going on, they needed to find Cheese Cake and Anton.

Trekroner Fort was hard to miss as a landmark. Every ship that sailed into Copenhagen’s harbor would have to go around it and its tide breakers to get to the quays and the inner city. For centuries, the atoll-like fortification had been part of the cityscape and shared its history.

It had been there when the British fleet attacked. It had done a stint as a building for the harbor authority. It had even been used by German occupational forces during WW2. And now, even after something as big as the Event, it would still get to be part of the city’s legacy.

It was built on strips of reclaimed land in the shape of a diamond, with the land rising higher on the sea side of the construction where most of the fortifications had been built, including a small-sized white lighthouse atop the fort's main casemate. There were even some rust covered cannons left over, more for show than utility. Behind the main casemate, the diamond shape of the atoll wrapped around a small bay with a couple deserted piers.

Lastly, two red two-story buildings kept an eye on either side of the entrance channel in the back of the atoll, the former barracks, which had been converted into a café and a museum after the fort fell out of use. Along with the grass and weeds that covered the fortifications, they made for a rather picturesque sight.

The only two things marring the appearance of the fort were the destroyed doors of the main casemate and the grounded dinghy on the boat ramp in front of it.

Cheese Cake slowly started coming to. She was on her morning walk after breakfast but then… maybe she recalled something wrapping around her throat. She wasn’t sure.

Opening her eyes, the lanky unicorn found herself inside what appeared to be a cell. An old one at that. The bare, damp ground she was lying on was covered in bits of plaster that came from the cracked ceiling; and the whitewashed brick walls bore the marks of humidity damage. The only source of light in the room came from a small opening near the top of one wall, but even if it didn’t have rusty bars in the way it would still have been too small to fit her. Going by the sound of waves and the salty smell, she still was close to the shore.

The only possible escape route she could see was thus the cell’s door. She couldn’t see anything except for a cracked brick wall beyond her cell’s bars.

“Hello? Anypony in there?” She called.

Unsurprisingly, whoever had brought her there had closed the door. She was stuck. Alone.

Cheese sat down on her haunches and slowly breathed in and out. Be quiet, stay calm, think of a solution. Panicking won’t get you anywhere. Good ponies don’t stampede when cut off from the herd, and the Equestrian authorities had made sure the expedition teams they sent off-world were ponies that wouldn’t panic and focus on actual solutions.

She was that kind of pony.

Her initial panic visibly settled down, her ears rising up and flicking this way and that to attempt to detect anything around her.

What do you do when you’re cut off from your herd? You either find your way back, or find a way to get their attention. Now how to do the latter…

“Anypony? Pulp?” She tried again.

She caught some noise a ways down the hallway. Chomping? Yes, there was a creature eating something loudly, fish most likely if her nose was to be trusted. The smell made her queasy. Wait… steps, talons clicking against the hard floor. Somepony was coming. Cheese pressed her head against the bars to get a look.

What came into view chilled her to the bone. She was fairly certain she had seen that griffon hen somewhere around the quays, but back then her eyes weren’t glowing red embers. Hints of black crystals also seemed to poke out of her plumage here and there around her eyes as she approached her cell with a robotic gait.

Cheese knew her Equestrian history. The mind control wasn’t even subtle. The bad thing was… contrarily to Sidereal she was no magic expert and recognizing it was about the only thing she could do. The crystals too were rather concerning, but she couldn’t put a hoof on where she had heard of such an affliction. She was wearing a dirty, scuffed set of white coveralls she recognized as the type used by the Rhine's crew... though unlike many of the former humans that was the only thing she had on her frames. No gloves. No shoes.

“Whoever you are, I know you’re in there!” Cheese cried out. “You can fight it! Take back control!”

The griffon just took position in front of her cell, completely still and with her gaze vacant.

“She won’t hear you.” A loud feminine voice came from somewhere down the hallway. “Fascinating history they have those humans, so much strife to feed off of. Easy to exploit too, a bit of a nudge here and there, an enticing thought or two and she was right where I wanted relinquishing all control.” The voice said with a hint of pride.

“Why?!” Cheese yelled. “Why would you do such a terrible thing?”

The voice laughed.

“Little pony, you may know of changelings that feed off love, but my species… we need strife, chaos, grief. And these humans? They have it in spades, so easy to exploit… And when the dust settles, the survivors make for a nice dinner.”

“Your species? Who are you exactly?” She asked, wracking her brain for a possible plan and staring at the window for a second. Maybe…

“It matters not what I am my sweet little pony. What matters is that my sisters and our patrons prevent you from aiding these humans. Can’t have you put a stop to all these conflicts with your precious harmony now?” She laughed.

Sisters? Patrons? She needed to keep her talking. Cheese looked back at the griffon standing in front of her cell. Utterly unresponsive. Was she using direct mind control or did she just give her thrall orders to fulfill?

“Surely we can coexist…” Cheese attempted.

She wracked her brain for the right spell. Right, there was the one that fireworks unicorn stallion showed her once, Comet Crackle he was called? No matter, she needed to recall the spell not his name.

“Coexist?!” The voice erupted into shrieking laughter. “Only you Equestrians could be so naïve as to think that. No, now that there is another world ripe for the taking, we’re going to take it and once I’m done, you will all be out of the equation. And all of us that have been quashed by the princesses, we will have our turn.”

Cheese didn’t answer. She pointed her horn at the window and released her now completed spell. With a loud hiss, a red ball of sparks left her horn and flew out of the window before taking a 90-degree turn upwards. She didn’t see the explosion, but the booming sound was enough to confirm the firework had been cast correctly.

“Thank you, bait.” The voice said smugly.

Cheese cake stared aghast at the still immobile griffon in front of her cell. She fell down on her haunches.

“Oh horseapples…”

“Did you guys just see that, over?”

“Amandine to Rhine, please confirm: flare spotted over the sea fort? Over.”

“Looked more like a firework from here. Think that’s our missing sailors? Over.”

“Gotta be. Keep the sweeping search pattern around the docks, we’re sending our MOB boat to investigate. Out.”

A few minutes later, a team including Artyom, Boris, Danny and Thanasis embarked on board of Amandine’s MOB boat. Sidereal and Gust stopped them before they could launch off towards the fort.

“Doctor, this could be dangerous.” Artyom warned her with his claw hovering over the davit’s controls.

“Gust and I took down a tatzlwurm a few days prior. Try me.”

The ex-VDV took a look at the gambeson-wearing Pegasus behind Sidereal. Gust had already retrieved and strung his crossbow and its quiver of bolts. At least the stallion seemed to have some actual combat training, if only against critters.

“Fine.” He looked Gust in the eyes. “Mind keeping an eye in the sky for us?”

“Consider it done.” The golden pegasus nodded, immediately taking off, his red and blue tail leaving a faint contrail behind him.

“How he manages to use a crossbow without hands I’ll never know…” Artyom muttered before turning back to Sidereal. The unicorn was still standing on the deck next to the davit. “Mind hopping in? I’d rather we hurry.”

Once he was sure everyone was settled, they finally released the boat from its davit and sped towards the fort where the flare had come from.

“Cheese, she’s no fighter?”

“Not at all.” Sidereal shook her head. “Don’t get me wrong, she’s got some wits and a couple nifty spells in store, but the fighters in our team are just me and Gust, maybe Pulp to some extent.”

“Got it.” Artyom nodded before going silent.

The fort wasn’t particularly far from their berthing point, but the raised fortifications did hide the bay from sight. In a matter of minutes, Danny was pulling them alongside a pier on the rear side of the fort, next to the barracks. They dismounted quickly, all of them noticing the Rhine’s dinghy next to the main casemate which had its doors broken out of their hinges. Artyom in particular was rather tense as he gathered them behind a short wall.

“Listen up all of you, it’s highly likely Anton is behind this. I have no idea why she would do this, but remember she’s armed and potentially dangerous…”

“You’re just gonna shoot her?” Boris protested.

The blue dragon gave his fellow Russian an exasperated look.

“Of course not. Don’t do that, use your 303 if you can to neutralize her, lethal force is only to be applied if she fires at you and you can’t get her safely, copy?”

“Aye, copy.” Boris nodded, somewhat relieved. “Monsters?”

“What do you mean monsters?” Thanasis asked, one MAG machinegun floating close to him.

“Maybe they caused this.” Boris shrugged.

“Monsters or not, we’re here for Cheese and Anton.” Artyom reminded them. “We don’t know what we’re getting into, so we all stick together, okay?”

Once he heard a short chorus of ‘aye’s’ and ‘roger’s’, he laid out his plan to them.

It was easy to tell at a glance that there were tunnels and bunkers crisscrossing under the fortifications. With the state of the main door and the dinghy next to it, rushing in through there would have been way too dangerous. He pointed a claw to a set of rusty steel doors near the barracks.

“We get in there and approach it from the inside. That should make us harder to notice.”

The interior that greeted them made it very clear to the group how old the fort really was. The plaster that covered the vaulted ceiling was chipped here and there, with the fallen bits cracking underneath their shoes (horseshoes in Sidereal's case) every time they took a single step forward.

Progressing through the narrow hallways forced them to move in single file with Artyom taking point. Small rooms appeared on either side of them as they advanced slowly through the dark, damp tunnels, their path lit up by a light orb Sidereal had just conjured out of her horn.

The fort wasn’t completely ancient either: cables and piping could be seen running along the walls, along with old filament light bulbs. They were of course far beyond the point of even being salvageable, but it did show the group the fort had been upgraded over the course of its lifetime.

Before they could reach the main casemate, Artyom raised a balled claw to halt them.

“Anybody heard that?” The blue dragon asked in a whisper, pointing a claw towards a room off to the side.

“You think it’s Cheese?” Sidereal said.

“Could be.” Artyom dropped to one knee and looked at the group behind him. “Boris, Danny, Gust, you check this out while we keep going?”

With a collective nod, the three of them split up from the rest of the group and headed for that section of the fort.

As for Artyom, he made sure Thanasis was still following behind. He needed the sphinx’s MAG and Sidereal’s spells. Whatever was in this fort, he was pretty sure the biggest threat would be waiting for them in the main casemate.

Their section of the fort must have been some kind of armory or ammunition storage for the artillery guns. That would have explained the reinforced doors and bars blocking off certain rooms which Boris’ flashlight passed over. Eventually, they reached a circular room with a vaulted ceiling at the top of which there was a single small window allowing some light to stream in.

“Cheese? You in there?!” Gust called out before being immediately shushed by the two sailors accompanying the Pegasus.

“What?” He mouthed back at them.

Boris pulled him closer, talons wrapped around the collar of his gambeson.

“We don’t want to be noticed. Don’t shout.” He whispered angrily in the pony’s ear before releasing him with a growl.

But it was still too late. They heard the telltale sound of talons clicking against a hard surface coming towards them. Two red embers appeared in the darkness… no, two glowing eyes which they soon found out belonged to one snow leopard griffon as she robotically stepped into the light.

“Anton?” Boris cocked his head. “Are you alright?” He asked, slowly approaching the hen.

Why were his instincts screaming at him to run away? And where did the black crystals in her feathers come from?

A metallic crashing noise echoed further down the hallway Anton had just come from, quickly followed by the clattering sound of hooves on stone. A haggard, disheveled looking Cheese Cake came galloping towards him before tackling him away from Anton.

“It’s a trap!” She screamed at him. “She’s been mind controlled! There’s a siren in the fort!”

Before Boris could have time to ask her what the fuck was going on, Anton burst into action. She flew directly at Boris and Cheese, all talons poised to strike and skewer them.

Or rather, she went straight for Boris. The Russian was once more tackled to the ground, this time by a screeching hen.

He’s one of them. They took your country. They took your brother.

Take his life.

There was another conflict beneath the surface, deep inside Anton’s mind. The Ukrainian was trashing against the power the siren was using to hold her captive in her own mind, completely helpless at the sight of her own body attacking one of Amandine’s sailors. She knew the guy, he may be a jackass at times but that didn’t warrant killing him.

Avenge them.

The siren was using her own memories against her! Every time she thought she could gain some measure of control, she would flash some painful memories at her to throw her off. Boris being Russian didn’t help… Whatever angry, vengeful spirit the siren had awoken inside her mind, it seeing a Russian was like a bull seeing red.

Boris rolled with the attack and tried to pin Anton to the ground, only for the mind controlled griffon to kick him off her with a strong push of her hind legs, her claws deployed and tearing small holes in his orange coveralls.

“Idea?” He called to his companions, narrowly dodging a swipe of her talons and once more going for a pin.

Danny and Gust wanted to help, but the flailing pile of limbs and talons in front of them didn’t allow them to get a clear shot. And neither of them wanted to be on the receiving end of the wicked talons Anton sported.

“Don’t kill her! She can still get back in control!” Cheese cried out.

“How?”

“I think you need to get to her. Talk to the real Anton!”

“I barely know her!” Boris panted, rolling away from another swipe of her talons that left three shallow gouges on his flak jacket.

“Think of something!”

Before he had the time to, Anton managed to land a punch on the side of his beak which sent him reeling. The mind controlled sailor pushed the offensive and pressed him against a wall, rising on her hind legs with one claw wrapped around his throat, the other poised to rip out his guts.

“You destroyed my homeland!” She squawked in a distorted voice.

Well, if that wasn’t a hint he might as well be deaf. Boris kicked her in the shin, his steel-toed shoes knocking the wind out of her before he followed up with a quick throat punch that made her release her grip on his throat. The two of them tumbled to the ground, and he managed to wrap his talons around her arms to stop her assault for a second. A stinging feeling in his neck told him her talons had actually managed to break the skin.

“I’m sorry ok?!” He yelled at her. “All these jokes I tell about Ukraine and shit… That doesn’t mean I hate the whole damn country - urgh!”

Anton had folded her hind legs and kicked him off before he had time to finish. He crumpled like a castle of cards, clutching his belly in pain and giving her ample time to gain the upper claw.

On the other side of the room, Danny was wracking her brain trying to find a way to neutralize Anton safely. The parrot held her FN 303 in her claws, unable to fire it at risk of hitting her shipmate with the CS-gas filled rounds. Behind her, Gust and Cheese were rifling through the pegasus’ quiver of bolts.

“Fine!” Boris blurted out through a gritted beak as the mind controlled griffon above him raised her talons. “You want to know why I keep being a douche about Ukrainians?! Well I fucking had family there!” He switched to Ukrainian, much to the surprise of Anton when she heard her mother tongue being spoken. She stopped for a second, eyes briefly returning to their natural yellow-orange color.

“Two uncles, one lived in Sebastopol, the other moved from Saint-Petersburg to Mariupol for work with his family. Well guess what? They’re both dead, killed in this fucking useless farce of a conflict!” He stood up slowly, Anton taking a few steps backwards.

He could see her head jerking this way and that, her eyes sometimes taking the mind-controlled color of red, other times returning to their normal color.

“So you say it’s my fault your brother died? That your own damn country is in shambles? Well, damn you to Hell. Both parties are shit; you think my uncle cared whose rocket it was that blew up his house? Doesn’t matter, it killed him anyway. So I’ll admit, yes I joke about Ukrainians, but of course your sorry ass never heard half the shit I spout about Artyom and Russia! Fuck me right? I’d rather laugh about this all than wallow in self pity!”

He got closer to Anton, the female griffon was now trembling as he approached, her features changing quickly between aggression and confusion. He placed one claw on her shoulder and gave her a sympathetic look.

“So… I know I’m not the best speaker of all… I know where you’re coming from with that grief… but it’s not yours. You’re being manipulated by a monster that’s only using you and your emotions as a tool. Fight it.” He told her with a tentative smile.

And it seemed to work. The Russian could see the struggle on the other griffon’s features. Black crystals aside, she was actually even cuter from up clo-

‘Bang!’

Her eyes were back to red. Boris looked down. In her talons was one of Amandine’s Five-Seven pistols, muzzle still smoking. His mind went blank at the sight of the growing red spot on the woodland fabric of his flak jacket. The armor-piercing round had gone straight through all the layers of Kevlar.

Slowly, he raised one gloved claw to the wound. He started to feel cold… and then the pain hit him with the force of a freight train.

Boris collapsed with a mute gasp that sent droplets of blood flying out of his beak and staining Anton’s white coveralls. Behind him, he could hear Danny and Cheese's horrified cries resonate around the room.

Forcing through the searing pain of his wound, Boris reached towards Anton with one claw. He feebly clasped it around her paw before she had the time to walk away.

“Fight… back…” He whispered before finally falling unconscious from the sheer pain.

Anton’s eyes flashed back to their normal color, horror dawning on her beak as she stared back and forth between the Russian she had just shot and the pistol in her talons. That was short-lived however because the enthralling spell of the siren quickly retook control.

‘Twang-thunk!’

A thin crossbow bolt embedded itself into her flank. The mind-controlled griffon looked at it for a second before magically-induced drowsiness overcame her and she collapsed as well, her form landing on top of Boris’.

“Sleep tight beakie, that one had enough sedatives to knock out a manticore.” Gust snorted.

Author's Note

Bear with me, lest we forget, the story happens in 2015 back when the Eastern Ukrainian conflict was in full force. Considering how easily sirens are able to enthrall pacifist and communal creatures like ponies, I don't think one of them would have any difficulty using that as leverage to enthrall a Ukrainian, even one from an oblast that's on the other end of the country like Anton.

As for which siren of the trio she is, I did mention her scale color didn't I?

Chapter 35: Catnip City

While the rest of the team was encountering difficulties with the mind-controlled Anton, Artyom’s group had continued their progress towards the main casemate. The rooms started to get bigger as the distance between them and the center of the fort decreased, the ammunition stores and gun emplacements now replaced by different rooms like infirmaries, offices and kitchens. It was still very clear that the fort was an antique by the looks of its electrical installation and the status of the furniture, but it was an improvement over the semi-rubble and cracked walls of the outer sections.

It was also better lit, if only marginally. The rooms on the inner side of the atoll facing the bay had actual windows. Most were either broken or translucent from the accumulated grime, but it was enough for Sidereal to drop her light orb spell.

The smell, however, wasn’t an improvement. A putrid scent of rotten fish mixed with algae permeated the air and made them wrinkle their nostrils in disgust. Sidereal in particular had to conjure a protection spell to put up with the smell.

“The fuck’s going on in here?” Artyom muttered in Russian as he rounded a corner of the narrow hallway with his SCAR raised.

There were piles of seaweed and fish bones strewn about the place haphazardly, no doubt the reason behind the smell inside the fort. To him it looked like something had put them here as a… stash maybe? Who or rather what does that?

The ex-VDV got his answer soon enough when they finally reached the central room. Said room was situated just beneath the lighthouse that loomed over the rest of the fort, and it was also the largest they had seen so far. At two stories in height, it had a rickety walkway made out of moldy wood connecting to the rooms on the upper level, as well as a rusty steel staircase going up in a spiral through the ceiling and towards the lighthouse. Neither the stairs nor the walkway looked in any shape like they could have sustained any significant weight without collapsing outright.

Most of the light in the room came from the open main doors, now ripped off their hinges and lying in the middle of the room amidst a pile of splinters, broken sea shells and seaweed arranged in a nest of sorts.

Oh, and of course the ‘nest’ had an occupant.

“Took you long enough…” The siren chuckled softly in perfect, unaccented English, a wicked smile on her muzzle revealing rows of sharp fangs that belied her otherwise pleasant voice.

Artyom could understand the legends of sailors being enthralled by the voices of sirens if that one was anything to go by.

In the looks department however? Her equine face made her more similar to the average Englishwoman than the Greek beauties of legend. At easily the size of an orca, the siren had the front half of a horse (as in: an actual horse, not the relatively cute Equestrian ponies), albeit covered in light blue scales instead of fur. She had a few fins around her neck and on her hooves, as well as a much larger one on her back akin to that of a sailfish. The rear half of her body was a very muscular fish tail tightly coiled beneath her equine half and covered in a darker set of iridescent blue scales.

It certainly didn’t match the elegance of waterborne hippogriffs; that was for sure. Her looks painted the picture of an apex predator instead. One that was looking at them –and Sidereal in particular- like they were her next meal of the day through a pair slitted purple eyes.

Those facts alone would have made her appearance unique enough, but it just didn’t stop there. A large red gem was solidly embedded in the center of her chest, with black crystalline protrusions poking out of the scales around it. Those protrusions were also found around her eyes, alongside a sigil not unlike the one Sidereal had found on the tatzlwurm burned on the side of her muzzle.

“What are you?” Artyom questioned her in a careful tone, rifle pointed straight at a point between her eyes.

“Sonata Dusk would be my name.” The siren said, giving the similarly colored dragon a predatory smile and rising up on her tail. “And I welcome you to my humble abode. I take it you received the invitation I had your friend send you?”

“Cut the crap.” Artyom scowled. “What do you want you monster?”

“What do I want?” Sonata laughed. “Simple young drake, I want nothing less than the ruin of Equestria and full reign over your world, and we can’t have the latter with these ponies in play. Thank you for bringing them right in my lap.”

“Wha-“ Artyom started but was cut off as a blast fired straight from her gem impacted him in the chest, sending him flying down the hallway they had come from.

“And now little pony, the time has come to weed off the parasites.” Sonata said in a haughty tone as her gem lit up like a second sun.

Sidereal may have been powerful compared to other Equestrian unicorns, but she was in no way capable of tackling a creature like a siren on her own. If a coven of them could give mages like Star Swirl the Bearded a gallop for his bits, she better find something else to take down the damned-to-Tartarus monster.

Sonata released the magic in her gem just as Sidereal leapt towards a beleaguered Thanasis who hadn’t quite managed to follow whatever the Hell was going on. She teleported the two of them out of the way just as a red lance of energy struck the ground they occupied not a second earlier. The lance exploded against the stones, kicking up a large cloud of dust and collapsing the hallway, thankfully blocking access to the large monster.

Sonata glared at the rubble, not finding any scorched corpses in the pile of bricks and concrete. She let out an angry shriek and blasted the wooden walkway apart.

“You can run but you can’t hide pony! My race will get their due revenge on Equestria and the rest of the world; and I won’t let you stop it!”

Down the hallway and now sheltered by the rubble the siren had inadvertently put between her and them, a blue-beret wearing dragon slowly hoisted himself up on his feet with a wince. That magic blast had hit him with the force of a runaway train. He gingerly brushed a claw against the spot where it had hit him right in the middle of his flak jacket.

There was a fist-sized hole going right through the kevlar, past the nomex coveralls and leaving a painful scorch mark on his scales. Most of the formerly light blue scales in the impact zone were now charred or cracked, with a small trickle of hot dragon blood seeping from beneath his natural armor. Not a small feat… the other dragons had tested the limits of their heat resistance and could withstand temperatures up to 500°C. Paired with the heat resistance of nomex and kevlar... that siren wasn’t pulling her punches.

He was damn lucky it was just a scratch. He had no clue how much of his survival was owed to his flak jacket, but he was pretty damn sure anyone else would have been killed instantly by the blast.

Might want to loot a jeweler later, just to get those broken scales fixed up though…

“Finally found you. You alright there?” Thanasis asked behind him as he rounded a corner. “Sidereal teleported us to safety.” The Greek sphinx added, seeing the confusion on the dragon’s features.

“I’m fine.” Artyom rolled his shoulders and checked his rifle.

A rumble shook the fort and made bits of plaster fall on their shoulders. Artyom caught himself on the side of the hallway and stared off at a small window as it lit up with a red glow.

“She’s pissed.” He stated. “At this rate she might actually level the whole fort.”

“It gets worse.” Sidereal told him. “We got a casualty.”

“Who?”

“Boris, he got shot by Anton before we could subdue her.”

Artyom’s face fell. Boris was his only compatriot in the entire fleet. As much as he tended to behave like a literal shithead he didn’t want him to…

“Dead?”

“Thankfully not, Gust and Danny are taking care of him but he needs to see a medic ASAP.” Thanasis explained as another tremor shook the fort. “For fuck’s sake, horse-Ariel is gonna bury us at this rate!”

“Worse is she might attack the ships after she’s done with us.” Sidereal said.

“She won’t.” Artyom told her with a shake of his head. “The .50 cal machineguns alone we have defending the area should be enough to take her down, she had Cheese captured to lure you here for a reason, she can’t take all of us in a frontal assault.”

“Me specifically?”

“Most likely because that way she gets rid of all the unicorns in your team and basically strands the rest on Earth with no hope of contacting your superiors.” Artyom elaborated. “Whoever she works for, they seem to want the planet for themselves now that most humans have essentially been culled out of existence.”

“That’s nice and all but that doesn’t really matter at the moment does it?” Thanasis interceded. “Can’t we just focus on killing the bloody thing instead?”

“You think your MAG is enough?”

“Doubt it. But we got better.”

“Nobody knows how to use the Bofors we found lest you forgot.” Artyom pointed out.

“I wasn’t talking about the tank. A good dose of .50 cal up her arse should do the trick I think. The fort’s in range of the ships, or Amandine is at least.” The sphinx said. “They can shoot up to one mile, correct?”

“Easily…” Artyom said looking off towards where he could hear the siren rampage. “Now how to make it work…”

Obviously they couldn’t just radio for fire support from the inside of the fort, what with how thick the walls were. That in itself wouldn’t have been too much trouble were it not for the highly dangerous monster out on the prowl outside the fort.

Sonata wasn’t stupid either. She knew the ships had enough firepower to blow her away in the blink of an eye and thus made sure the raised levee that constituted most of the fort’s structure always hid her from sight. She may not be as powerful as her sisters but she had enough wits about her to use her powers correctly.

Most of the time anyway. What she had just done here with the sailors and ponies was downright sloppy and no doubt would her sisters mock her when they heard about it. So much for saying she could watch the area on her own… She had the unicorn in her grasp right there, why did she even bother shooting the dragon?

Damn those slippery ponies!

A burst of gunfire erupted behind her as she flew past an old gun emplacement, drilling a couple holes in her back fin but otherwise pinging harmlessly off her scales.

“Feeling brave now?” Sonata smirked, immediately turning around and firing a blast of magic at Thanasis. It missed, landing in the dirt a few meters next to the sphinx who was forced to duck back underneath the fort.

Sonata pressed the offensive and used her magic to fly closer to the position Thanasis had emerged out of, already winding up a new spell.

“My kin can challenge the most powerful of unicorns ever! What makes you think you stand a chance, desert cat?” She laughed, peering in the hole.

A miasma of paralyzing gas courtesy of Thanasis’ breath attack was what greeted her. Not to a great effect however, because she casually dispersed the gas with her magic.

“A parlor trick? You just went down from brave to utterly stupid. Come out now and finish this!” She roared out.

Not a single soul peered out of the fortifications. Instead, a small olive green canister with a white band was thrown out, landing close to her. Sonata looked at it in curiosity.

And then the flashbang exploded.

“Gah! I’ll kill you all! Peel the skin off your flesh and make trophies out of it!” She yelled, one hoof rubbing frenetically at her eyes, ears ringing and her flight off-balance from the explosion.

This was the diversion they wanted. While the large siren was still recovering from the grenade, Artyom snuck out of a door on the other side of the fort, walkie-talkie in hand.

“Rescue team to Amandine, you hear me? Over.”

“5 by 5 rescue, what’s going on in the fort? Over.” Alejandro’s voice came over the radio.

“We found a monster. Got a casualty too but we need to kill it first and 7.62 isn’t enough Chief…” He flinched as Sonata fired a beam of magic blindly, making the lighthouse collapse in a flash of red light. “You think you can get us some fire support? Over.”

“Roger that. Hold your ground, we’re getting some .50 cal ready. Amandine out.” Alejandro signed off.

Not a second too soon too, because Sonata finally managed to shake off the effects of the flash grenade and sent him a scathing glare. Artyom ducked back underneath the fort just as a magic beam hit his former position and collapsed the emplacement he had just been occupying.

“Ohooiet, that was close…” The dragon muttered in Russian, tearing off a bit of concrete that had lodged itself in the collar of his flak jacket.

“They got your message?” Sidereal asked him.

“Yeah, they’re readying the big guns. How are the others?”

“Boris should be able to hold for a while thanks to Gust’s potions…”

“Potions?” Artyom cut her off as he stood up.

“Magic first-aid, we’ll go into detail on that once we’re safe ok? Thanasis is fine, if a bit worse for wear.” She explained. “What’s next?”

“For now? We need to wait a few minutes for them to get the guns ready. Then we gotta make sure they can get their eyes on the siren to shoot her.” He looked down at the red mare beside him. “You wouldn’t happen to know how to get her to fly higher? Expose herself?”

Sidereal sat down on her haunches and rubbed her muzzle pensively. Sonata clearly was aware of the firepower they had in store, and she wouldn’t let herself stray in the sights of their heavy machineguns.

“I… no clue, honest.” She gave him an apologetic shrug.

Artyom leaned his back against the wall and allowed himself to slide down to the ground, his tail coiling around his rear to form a seat of sorts. He rubbed the sides of his skull with his knuckles pensively, wracking his mind and…

“The lighthouse?” he tried.

“She destroyed it.”

“Damn, right.” He snapped his claws.

“I may have an idea.” Gust’s voice came in front of them.

The Pegasus cantered over to the two of them confidently. He had shed most of his saddlebags now, with the exception of his crossbow’s holster and its quiver.

“Well, shoot. It’s not like I have anything right now.”

One of the Ranger’s wings dug inside his quiver and pulled out a bolt which he held between two primaries. It looked fairly normal, except for its head which held a glass bulb behind a thin steel tip. The bulb was filled with an iridescent red liquid which glowed faintly in the darkness of the fort’s interior.

“Specialized bolts, the trademark of the Everfree Rangers… and our biggest money drain as well.” He explained.

“You wanna poison it? Look, I don’t think this…” Artyom waved a claw at the bolt. “…can actually pierce her scales, otherwise we wouldn’t need fire support in the first place.”

“It doesn’t need to, the bulb breaks on impact and the content can do its job with mere skin contact. I used one such bolt minutes ago to tranquilize Anton and… I may not have anything left with enough potency to paralyze a siren; but I do have that one which is filled with rage poison.”

“I don’t like the name of that thing.”

“It’s easy, I bet you I can outfly the siren, I just need to land my shot and she will be so focused on getting to me she won’t even remember she can blow me out of the sky with a spell.”

“Are you, by any chance, suicidal?” Artyom tilted his head and gave the Pegasus a dubious stare.

Gust actually took a second to reply to that.

“Maybe I am…” He mused, one golden-furred hoof rubbing the underside of his muzzle. “I mean, you gotta be a right bit barmy to join a bunch of foresters that roam a monster-filled haunted forest…”

Artyom turned his red eyes towards Sidereal.

“So you’re just going to let him do that?” He asked her.

“Beats doing nothing.”

Five minutes later, a gold-coated Pegasus with a gambeson shot out of the fort in a blur. Gust pushed his wings as hard as he could and completed a turn around the inner bay, passing in front of Sonata and finally attracting her attention.

“Ah, now you decide to actually come out and fight.” She licked her fangs, eyeing the pegasus with a hint of hunger. “Took you long enough.”

Gust came to a hover some ways across from her, crossbow held carefully in his forehooves.

“Aw, you think your lil’ crossbow here will suffice…” She chuckled before spreading out her hooves. “Try all you want pony! These scales here have withered far worse than this little toy you have!”

Gust just glared at her through the sights of his weapon. He lined up his shot and let the bolt fly with a sharp 'twang'. The glass bulb reflected the sunlight as it crossed the distance between him and the monster before crashing against her scales and shattering, the red poison inside staining her blue scales just above the gem in her chest.

Sonata's cocky smile reflected Gust's grim smile for a second.

“See? Completely use-“ She trailed off, pupils shrinking down to pinpricks.

“Bingo…” Gust muttered as he put his crossbow back in its holster.

Fair colts and gentlemares, the ponies are lining up in their starting gates…

Sonata’s head started jerking from side to side.

This year’s gallop is starting to show some promises with athletes gathering for a unique prize…

She gnashed her teeth, foam appearing on the corners of her mouth.

The prize you ask? Well, it’s actually fairly simple…

The siren’s eyes came to a rest on Gust. She snarled.

Not getting eaten.

Gust took off faster than he had ever flown, the now enraged Sonata hot on his tail, eyes filled with bloodlust. The two of them started swirling wildly in the air above the fort, with Gust having great difficulties putting some distance between him and the surprisingly quick siren.

For a monster that didn’t have wings and relied entirely on magical levitation to fly, she could actually put out some speed, and she didn’t seem to lose any in the turns either. Now…

Time to finish this. Gust steeled his gaze and started ascending.

“So did you actually fight with those?” Geert asked in Dutch.

“No. We didn’t take them to Kandahar, and we didn’t have them for Kosovo and Yugoslavia either. Doesn’t mean I can’t actually use them. We did train a lot.” Bart told her.

The Belgian was in fact speaking of the Piranha III APC’s they had gotten from the Danish base in Slagelse. Each of them was equipped with a remotely operated .50 cal on top, and it just so happened that Bart’s former unit made use of this exact same brand of APC’s.

Commercially-produced military vehicles can have benefits. Sometimes.

The one piranha they were in had been rolled out of storage as quickly as possible, and immediately had its turret equipped with a .50 cal. Geert and Bart were now positioned in the back, with the sky blue unicorn occupying the gunner’s seat and Geert looking over his shoulder at the targeting screen.

Holding the joystick in his telekinesis, Bart ran a quick, well-practiced check of the systems. Ammo feed? Check. Gun chambered. Laser rangefinder? He pointed the gun at a nearby crane. Correct distance, so that’s a check as well. The joystick responded to his input correctly as well, though doing it properly with only his telekinesis felt weird to him.

“Alright, time to fill the Little Mermaid with some lead.” Bart smirked, pulling on the joystick and pivoting the gun towards the fort. The image on his screen first showed him the horizon, before the fort appeared in view of the camera, its size quickly increasing when he zoomed up.

They could clearly see a golden blur flying above the fort, pursued by the much larger form of Sonata. Bart frowned at the sight, reaching with one hoof towards a set of buttons on the side of the screen. A whirr above him told him the fire control system was making its adjustments.

Now he just needed a good shot at the siren… which wasn’t exactly easy considering Sonata and Gust were flying around like two hummingbirds on cocaine. The Equestria-born Pegasus had managed to draw her out of cover, but it wouldn’t do any good if his opening salvo hit him as well.

Wait…

Wait…

There.

Gust leveled out of a dive and took a turn which left Sonata dead in his sights with the pegasus safely out of the way. The APC shook as he let loose with his .50 cal, green bolts of light from the tracers lancing out towards the blue siren.

A rush of adrenalin drained away what was left of the poison in Sonata’s bloodstream when the rounds impacted her scales. This wasn’t as messy as the 20mm HE that had been shot at the quarry eels in France, but the bullets went through her flesh and scales as if they weren’t even there, ripping large chunks of flesh on the way out. Sonata’s front was littered with small, seemingly innocuous bullet holes all around her chest gem, but her back… Bits of her sternum and ribcage had splintered on impact, ripping apart most of her organs which fell out of the gaping holes in her back, down in the waters of the bay below her and leaving a red slick of blood on the surface.

For a second, Sonata remained alive and brushed the wounds on her chest with a hoof in confusion. She looked back towards Gust, a trickle of blood starting to seep out of the corners of her mouth and mixing with the frothing saliva the rage poison had caused.

“You lost…” The pony said, giving her an almost sympathetic look.

And then the brunt of the damage hit her. With a shriek worthy of a banshee, Sonata fell down limply, her body now unable to keep her in the air. It impacted the water roughly and cut off her shriek. Bubbles churned for a couple seconds before the carcass floated up to the surface, exposing the torn flesh and her damaged back fin for the world to see. Her chest gem, formerly a shining jewel, was now grayed out.

Seagulls were quick to flock towards the body. They would get first pick of the meat, and then the harbor’s crabs would get the rest. Nobody stopped them. The Equestrians avoided looking at the body.

“That’s it. We won.” Gust panted as he landed next to Artyom, wings hanging tiredly off his back.

All around them, they could see the rampage the irate siren had wrought upon the fort: the collapsed lighthouse, the nearly destroyed main casemate, the countless smoldering craters and destroyed gun emplacements…

A sense of pride welled up in Gust’s chest. He was just an Everfree Ranger, but now he was part of the very limited group of ponies that had defeated sirens. Like Starswirl the Bearded and the Pillars…

“It ain’t over yet.” Artyom grunted. “We still need to evacuate Boris. That being said…” The ex-VDV held up a claw towards him. “Congrats, couldn’t have done this without you. This, this is your victory.”

Gust allowed a small smile to appear on his muzzle. He shook the Russian’s claw.

“Thanks.” He said softly.

Boris made it out alive eventually. He was rather lucky the mind-controlled Anton had taken one of the Five-Seven pistols and not a 9mm; the bullet had gone through relatively cleanly.

That of course didn’t mean treating him was easy, but he should make a full recovery. Camille and Vadim spent a good two hours running scans of his chest cavity to assess the internal damage the bullet had caused before they even attempted any operation on the still unconscious griffon. Griffons weren’t humans, and they needed to properly figure out what was in the injured area in the first place before barging in with surgical tools.

Turns out, griffons have a pretty resilient circulatory system thanks to their dual heart structure. The heart in his chest suffered from a cardiac tamponade caused by the chest trauma, meaning fluid was starting to build up around his heart.

The good thing was that the other heart the griffon had between his wings compensated for the output deficit in the other. It was only thanks to that 'wing heart' picking up the slack that Boris wasn’t in too much danger because of the tamponade.

Identifying the other organs in his chest turned out to be… difficult to say the least. Magic-assisted flight or not, griffons had air sacs in their body. They were situated more towards the front of the chest cavity, with the lungs behind them halfway between the two hearts. And they were hit, that much was easy to notice from the wheezing, whistling noise the unconscious griffon made whenever he breathed.

Also, turns out griffons have a massive sternum (Camille wasn’t sure if it was the correct term, then again she wasn’t a veterinarian) to protect their breast from impacts as they discovered while running scans. Boris was lucky enough that the enthralled Anton had aimed far enough to the side that the bullet had gone past it and only broke what she had to assume was a scapula on the way out and not in. They didn’t need to surgically extract bone splinters from his chest cavity.

Funny thing griffons really. They have two different scapula in close vicinity: one for the wing, one for the nearby front limb. In Boris’ case, he better be left-handed because he wouldn’t be using his right claw for a while.

“How are the lungs?” Vadim asked her as he hooked his colleague up to two different heart monitors inside the Rhine’s clinic.

“Pneumothorax on the left side… and I think on a couple of his air sacs as well.” Camille hesitated.

“You think?”

“Bear with me, I’m no veterinarian, never seen organs like those.” She told, looking at the scans in front of her. “I’ll hazard a guess and say they should receive the same treatment as the lungs. Shouldn’t be too hard if you’re careful.”

“Excuse me?”

“Don’t act surprised.” Camille rolled her eyes. “You think I can do much with a broken arm?” The French hippogriff said, wiggling the plastered limb for emphasis. “Hopping around on three limbs is hard enough as is.”

“You think I’m in any shape or form ready to perform that kind of medical act anyway?” He countered.

“Duh, obviously she does, kretyn.” Marta called out from inside the clinic’s office. “Why would she ask otherwise?”

Marta was the Rhine’s nurse and Camille’s assistant. The polish woman (as in: an actual woman, rare as they were in a fleet where most females used to be male) had turned into some kind of hedgehog-esque creature with gray fur and white quills following the Event. The ponies called her species Storm Creatures apparently. The Krakow-born nurse was… rather sarcastic at the best of times, and a female Boris at the worst of times -which tended to be rather frequent considering she was wheelchair-bound thanks to a broken leg and twisted ankle-.

She wasn’t stuck doing nothing, but it was rather clear all the office work was making her antsy.

Camille interrupted him before he could come up with something witty to retort to the nurse.

“Listen Vadim, it’s not even that complicated and I’m here to guide you. Both for the pneumothorax and his tamponade… you only really need to insert a needle to suck out the air and the pericardium fluid out.” She reassured him. “No cutting him open just yet, je te le promets.”

Vadim stared at her for a solid ten seconds before eventually letting out an annoyed trill.

“Fine.” He relented. “What else?”

“We start off with the heart and lungs; I’ll guide you on the scanner to do it.” She told, waving a wing over the unconscious form of Boris. “Then we fix up the bullet wounds; stitch it back together so he doesn’t start leaking when we put some fresh blood into him.”

“We still good on the blood store?” He asked just as he was starting to look for the tools they’d need.

“Barely. One more week and then it’s spoiled.”

“Lucky.”

“Not really, I’m sure we could find some volunteers willing to give theirs on board.” Camille said.

Vadim pointed a talon towards a bed further inside the clinic where the still tranquilized Anton had been put. Just in case the hen was still enthralled by the time she woke up, they had tied her down to her hospital bed once they were sure she wouldn’t choke on her own tongue.

That and they would have to remove the black crystals from her face, along with treating the small injury caused by Gust’s tranquilizing bolt.

“Valid donor or not, we won’t take blood from unconscious patients.” Camille scowled. “You ever heard of medical ethics?”

“Nope, wasn’t taught that at the academy in Gdynia.” He shook his head. “She shot him though, why wouldn’t it be legitimate to take her blood to fix him?”

“Because we got principles. I do at least, and I think I better have a word with you about it once we’re through with Boris.” She said, examining the gunshot wound in the griffon’s chest. “Hmm…” She mused.

“What now?”

“Nothing really. Just surprised the wound is in such a good shape.” Camille commented.

“That would be the health potion.” Sidereal said as she walked in.

Camille and Vadim almost jumped at the sudden entrance of the ruby red unicorn. She was looking a bit frazzled from the fight in the fort, but otherwise fine.

“Health potion? Care to elaborate ‘cause to me that sounds like something straight out of fiction.” Camille rounded on the unicorn.

Sidereal pulled out a small vial filled with a pink glowing liquid out of her saddlebag and passed it to the taller hippogriff.

“I can give you some books on how it’s made. I may not know much about magical medicine but I can tell you these are made to increase recovery speed. A single one is generally enough to close a small wound…”

“I think we saw that.” Vadim commented, eyeing the wound on Boris’ chest.

“Indeed. We only have the first-aid variant, it’s multipurpose.” She explained. “A proper potion is a complex thing really: they start off with a base liquid that contains the ‘building blocks’, so to speak, which is then paired with an energizing substance to make up the core potion.”

“Sounds more like the stuff you’d use to bulk up.” Camille said, a hint of doubt in the French hippogriff’s voice.

“Because it’s only the base.” The unicorn explained matter-of-factly. “I don’t remember exactly how the rest is called, but you’ve got a bit of Zebrican alchemy –or deer alchemy in certain brands- that’s used to add to the compound so that contact triggers and hastens the healing process. The alchemy part is a new thing, but lesser potions can also be made with regular magic, albeit with difficulty.”

“Zebrican?”

“Right, you’ve never heard of them, sorry. They’re a striped equine species similar to ponies that live in low latitudes. Pretty rare in Equestria, but their botanic products and alchemical compounds are so potent they make up most of their trade revenue.”

“So… zebras?” Vadim asked.

“Don’t say that.” The Doctor chastised him. “Calling them zebras is as much of a slang as calling a pony a horse.”

“Duly noted.” He nodded. “You said your batch is the first-aid variant?”

“Yes, less expensive and easier of use. The hospital versions hold more nutrients but less energizing potion since it isn’t as necessary. Their healing properties are different too.”

“How different?”

“They can regrow any type of tissue.”

“What?!” Camille shouted. “Impossible!”

“Quite the contrary. High-grade health potions injected in small doses on affected areas have been proven effective at replacing scar tissue with proper tissue, as well as repairing complex damage such as nerves, replace burnt skin and even fix bone marrow.”

“C’est qu’un ramassis de conneries!” Camille swore. “If what you’re telling me is even half-true that would imply they could be used to regrow limbs!”

“Calm down, or need I remind you I’m not that kind of Doctor? I did send a request for books on medical practices if it helps.”

“It does, merci.” Camille nodded. “Now, not that I want to be rude but may we tend to our patient?” She waved a wing towards Boris.

“Of course.” Sidereal said before making her way back towards the entrance. “I will contact you later to talk about Equestrian medicine if you want?”

Camille looked up at a clock hanging on a wall of the Rhine’s clinic.

“Come back here after dinner, I should be free to discuss this in my office.”

Sidereal nodded and finally made her escape, leaving Vadim and Camille free to take care of Boris. The hippogriff hadn’t lied when she told him it wouldn’t be too hard as she guided him in fixing up the Russian. It did take him some time to do it, but they made it. Boris’ heart and lungs were no longer in danger.

They hooked him up to a steady supply of oxygen before transfusing him some fresh blood and plugging in an IV. He would be bedridden for a while, but he should make a full recovery.

Before long, the two of them moved on to Anton to remove the crystal shards embedded in her flesh. While this didn’t pose too much trouble either (much less considering they used the potion left behind by Sidereal to cleanly close the wounds left behind by their removal), the presence of the crystals was a worrisome detail.

Where did they come from in the first place? Did the siren put them there? Artyom had mentioned something about Sonata having some on her chest as well. They put the crystals in a jar and decided it would be up to Sidereal and the Captains to figure it out.

“Funny thing…” Vadim said as he tossed his nitrile gloves in the bin.

“What is?”

“That it’s Anton who wound up shooting him.”

“Lemme guess… he has eyes for her? Now I can picture how he let himself get shot in the first place.” Camille rolled her eyes.

“That would explain a lot. My, if she’s not still enthralled when she wakes up, that will be something I wanna see.” He chuckled.

“Didn’t know you were into drama Zinoviya... though I’ll admit, I wanna see it as well.”

Dilip stared down at the report on his desk for a second before leveling a sharp look towards Sidereal.

“What do you know about these…”

“Sirens.” Sidereal completed.

“Yes, your teammates seem to consider them rather powerful.” He said, referring to some comments by Gust and Radiant when they had come back from the fort.

“Duly so. Our country’s had… mishaps with a coven of sirens a long time ago. They were subsequently banished by the most powerful unicorn available at the time with the help of a full team of elite ponies.”

“Banished you say?” The dog cocked his head.

“It is… seldom our preferred choice to use deadly force against our foes.” Sidereal conceded. “Before you say anything, we are aware of the consequences and have had enemies resurface several times during our history.”

“Why not kill them then?” Dilip asked just as he was serving himself a fresh cup of tea.

“It goes against our values, and we ponies are ready to face a foe a dozen times over if it means standing by our principles.”

The Captain quirked an eyebrow.

“What about monsters?”

“Monsters…” Sidereal winced. “Captain, I’m aware it is not always possible to get the outcome you desire, monsters are one such occurrence. We faced one on the way to Copenhagen and…” Her face fell. “It saddens me to admit we didn’t have any mean to solve the situation without loss of life. Ponies like Gust, they’re familiar with monsters unlike me, and even he had to admit death is often the only recourse when confronted with them.”

“Did the siren leave you a choice then?”

“I wish she did. She had a name you know.” Sidereal said softly.

“Did she, now?”

“Sonata Dusk. She…” Sidereal scowled. “She immediately resorted to violence, even though her species are intelligent creatures.”

“I actually find it rather noble of you ponies to be so dedicated to preserving life however…” Dilip said between two sips of his tea. “Oftentimes, people don’t want peace. You shouldn’t get caught up on the death of this… Sonata. She made her bed the moment she enthralled Anton, and from what Artyom told me she clearly wanted your death. If anything, her death is on me and my men, not your team… if that helps.”

“Thanks Captain…” Sidereal gave him a small smile.

“You should consider this to be an achievement to be celebrated. An ancient menace to your countrymen - err, ponies that is- laid low by a group of mismatched sailors and a couple ponies. Nobody died on our side either, so I’ll take that as a win if you won’t.” He concluded, downing his cup of tea.

“Alright. What’s next then?”

“The usual I suppose. A few expeditions to be sent outside until we finish our modifications on the Rhine. In the meantime if you could keep teaching magic and flying to the sailors, that would be great.” Dilip shrugged. “There are still some things we need to locate but we still have a week or two of work on the Rhine to look forward to before we think about moving on to a new port.”

And that hopefully by then the HPI would have told them where they wanted their prototypes delivered.

“We can probably get it all done in that time yes.” Sidereal nodded. “Then the time would come to part ways. I suppose teams like mine will inherently wind up looking further inland than you ever would.”

“Yeah I figured you would. Be certain that we will share what your team taught us to other survivors once the time comes. By the way, have you received an answer to yesterday’s report yet?”

“Negative.” Sidereal said. “I suspect that, given the full scope of the report, it might take them some time to gather the data I requested, in particular when you factor most of it is data Equestria doesn’t have on hoof.”

“Then we’ll wait for them to send it.”

Abyssinia had always been known as a trade nation; that much never really changed. They had been one of the countries hit the hardest by the Storm King’s rise to power when he and his troops had plundered the capital city of Panthera. That alone wasn’t even the worst of it. His mad rampaging destroyed the economy of the entire subcontinent and sent the whole country in a long period of recession.

They weren’t ready for that. Most of the country’s wealth came from service industries like banking, as well as the production of high-value goods and non-nutritive crops. Catnip and tobacco are nice, but they don’t feed a people. The situation had quickly spiraled out of control for half a decade before some expat Abyssinian philanthropists and foreign nations stepped in and helped the mercantile kingdom stabilize itself and set up more sustainable productions.

But the damage was done. Many had already fled the country and were only now starting to trickle back in. The Abyssinian crown had been forced to import foreign labor to restart their industry, and it now showed in the landscape of the capital city.

Whereas a decade ago, they would have found the local population to be entirely made of the local species of bipedal cats, now things were more mixed. Hippogriffs hailing from Seaquestria and Mt. Aris had built their own district near the harbor, some Equestrians had set up near the city centre, and even some Ornithian parrots were now found nesting near the airship docking tower. Each species had come with their own brand of architecture which now clashed against the original Abyssinian style foreigners so often compared to cat trees, much to the ire of the local architectural schools.

To be fair, few species ever decided to leave an entire floor open and only supported by pillars only to resume regular construction on the next. If a human had ever laid eyes on their buildings, they would have most likely described the Abyssinian style as the Eastern Orthodox Church deciding to build giant cat trees. All such buildings now were the chief characteristic of the city center, with its large avenues and well-lit streets that formed concentric circles around the royal palace and its brass decorations.

The other districts weren’t as richly decorated, and much less… comfortable to say the least. Coal-driven factories dotted the landscape, easily tracked by the large smoke columns that escaped out of their smokestacks. They were surrounded by towering stone buildings that served to house the many workers required to operate Panthera’s factories, each connected to the others by small metal bridges and walkways that floated above the many (dirty, obviously) canals and railways feeding into the factories and crossing through the already narrow streets. At night, these quarters were often obscured by the haze caused by the many stoves the residents used inside their homes, with only the relatively modern gas lamps managing to break through the murky darkness.

The contrast alone with the central quarter made many of the poorer areas of town resentful of the rich feline aristocrats that got to live in the ‘clean city’. Coupled with racial tensions between immigrants, both the King and Queen of Abyssinian knew they were treading on thin ice with most of the populace… and so did their political opponents, many of them being the same captains of industry that had helped with rebuilding the country.

High above the city stood the airship docking tower, which was also where most of the parrots inhabiting the city chose to reside, as seen by the bright paints and colored banners they liked to decorate their homes with (though the colors were nearly always dulled by smoke clouds drifting into the tower). Already built on a hill, the tall tower was a mass of steel girders, wood and concrete rising towards a summit where ramps extended in all directions for passing airships to dock and discharge their cargo. Unloaded packages would then be sent down to the ground and the many factories via an intricate network of cable cars that spread out towards secondary towers all over the city, forming a literal spider web of cables high above the city. It also had connections to a train station and the canal network at its foot to go with the cable cars.

A couple stories below the summit was a bar where airship crews would go catch some fun between two flights. It was built on an extension of the tower hanging hundreds of meters above the abyss in full view of the city. Patrons could look down through orange tinted windows at the bustling city below… when their drunken stupor allowed it. The bar wasn’t even that shoddy, what with its varnished wood, fancy carpets and the lustrous brass of the beer taps.

A lone parrot was enjoying her drink inside the hazy cigar lounge above the rest of the bar, comfortably nestled in a corner of the room on a blue velvety couch. Much like every female of her kind, she was of the lean, very tall type. She was covered from head to claws in ivory feathers except for her crest and tail which were emerald green.

On her shoulders was a sleeveless duffle coat bearing the ranks of Captain to go with a pair of loose work pants and several wooden bracelets she wore around her arms and ankles. The attentive observer would also have taken note of more subtle details like the large scar she had across her throat as well as the words ‘Cpt. Elaena’ and ‘SS Sirocco’ written on the breast of her coat.

Between two sips of her beer, she would take long drags from a cigar she set down in an ashtray next to a thick notebook that was nearing its bursting point from the amount of sheets she had added to it.

‘Let’s see…’ Her raspy voice muttered in Ornithian (a language humans would have identified as a mix of Spanish and Portuguese) while flipping through her book. ‘Summer’s barely beginning so maybe I could run a load of parcels to Klugetown, fill the rest of the hold with liquors, trade it all there for potion components and textiles and bring them to Zebrica? Not the most profitable of loads with the parcels but I could get a charter and go the entire season with it. Now what to pick from Zebrica…’ She mused, tapping a claw against a small map of the area to which she had adjoined some personal notes.

Elaena liked to call herself observant, which was what lead to much of the notes she had put in her ledger. She updated it frequently, the notes allowing her to keep tabs on who was buying what and when. A necessity for a freelance Captain like her. Her sister may scoff at the idea of transporting cargo, what with her pirate-y delusions, but she knew a well-planned route was far more lucrative (and also reliable) than whatever she could wave a falchion at.

Toppling the Storm King didn’t count. That was a onetime thing.

Her musings were interrupted by two figures entering the smoking room. The first one was a scrawny dark green gargoyle with a russet mane and a broken antler. The tunic and cloak he was wearing clearly depicted him as a mage, a young one going by his youthful looks.

He was clearly there as a bodyguard for the second figure, a short middle-aged Abyssinian with long orange fur and black spots on his ears. His clothes, a bottle green suit with a white shirt, waistcoat and golden pocket watch hanging off his belt made it apparent to everyone around him he was either a noble or a rich bourgeois, if the way he carried himself wasn’t enough of a tell anyway.

Elaena’s pink eyes tracked the two as they made a beeline for her table. Either she lucked out and this was a cat her sister’s band of so-called ‘scallywags’ (even thinking about the word made her cringe) had wronged, or she would be getting a contract tonight.

“Elaena Ceylan I presume?” The Abyssinian asked her in perfectly unaccented Equestrian with the very same tone she had come to expect from nobles.

She stared him the eyes, taking a drag of her cigar before setting it back down in the ashtray.

“Captain Elaena.” She said sternly. “To whom do I owe the pleasure?” She asked, motioning towards the seat across from her.

The gargoyle pulled the seat back for his employer who sat down without acknowledging him before taking a step back. He crossed his arms and kept an eye on the room around them.

A newbie then. In Klugetown that might have been necessary… but in Panthera of all places? Laughable.

“I am Sir Armiger, industrial, investor and philanthropist.” The Abyssinian presented himself before letting out a small smile. “But please, call me Louis.”

That was new, a noble that’s not self-obsessed.

“Very well Louis, I’ll assume you didn’t come directly to me just to talk about the weather –sooty as it gets in this fine city-. Fair bit of warning however: if it’s about my sister, I am in no way responsible for her shenanigans, and I haven’t seen her in years anyway.” She told him.

Louis clapped his paws once in mild amusement.

“Fantastic then, I’m not here for her either.” He smiled brightly, revealing a row of sharp teeth. “I’m here for you specifically. Or rather, the Sirocco.”

Elaena shook her head and started rubbing her temples. This wasn’t the first time she was having this conversation.

“Listen, the Sirocco is my personal property and is a specialized ship. She’s not a toy for the average noble to fool around with.”

“I didn’t say I wanted a bareboat charter, nor that it was for leisure.” Louis corrected her. “I am in need of a small tonnage, small-sized airship with low crew requirements, high speed, and limited fuel consumption regardless of mechanical complexity.” He waved an arm around the room. “Last I checked there was one ship that actually fit the bill in town and I so happen to be having a chat with her Captain. No bareboat charter of course, your reputation alone gives me a good insight on your level of competence.”

“So you did your research.” Elaena raised her feathery brows. “Color me impressed. What does your contract entail?”

“A moment please.” He turned towards his gargoyle bodyguard. “Derek?”

The young gargoyle mutely handed him a manila folder before returning back to his position. Louis moved to show Elaena the folder before halting mid-motion and turning back towards Derek.

“Come to think of it, I do need a drink.” He said, fishing out a couple bills out of his pocket that he then handed over to the gargoyle. “No need to be so tense Derek, it’s only Panthera. Go grab me a gin and a cigar, and do take something for yourself. I heard they brewed a good lager over here.”

Derek politely nodded before moving off towards the bar.

“New hire?”

“Indeed. He’s actually a rather skilled mage, just a bit stressed by the job.” Louis let out a small chuckle. “Now, this contract. Have you been following the news recently?”

“You mean ‘business’ news or ‘regular’ news?” She asked before motioning towards the manila folder. “May I?”

“By all means.” He smiled, watching her open the folder and do a double-take at the first page.

“Captain, are you by any chance familiar with aliens?” Louis chuckled.

“How soon?”

“In two days, at noon.”

“I’m in.”

Author's Note

So, about Boris and Anton having a chat... I'll say it:

Hawkward.

There, I did it, call the pun-police if you want.

Chapter 36: Disenchantment

A thick folder slid in the center of the table around which several Officers from both Amandine and the Rhine were gathered, as well as Sidereal and Radiant. Raimund and Dilip were sitting at both ends of the table, the Indian Diamond Dog with his arms crossed and a frown on his features.

“So how far along was your research on what went on?” Sidereal asked.

“We have several observations of the wave effect that preceded the Event. Time of passage, the direction it came from, and we also plotted a couple points of origin on our charts.” Raimund told her, the young unicorn opening the folder to a page showing a map of Europe.

“There is also the matter of what was heard on the radio waves before the Event however…” Dilip trailed off.

“I’m afraid my progress on the conversion algorithm for the radio log is at a dead end.” Aleksei interjected with a sour look on her beak. “Despite my best attempts, my coding skills are not up to par.” The Latvian hippogriff conceded with a shake of her head.

“Can it be solved?” Dilip asked her.

“I may have an idea. Before the Event, I used to refer to several online repositories to write my code. I should be able to finish my task if we could salvage one such repository from a tech company’s database.”

“I’m afraid I don’t quite follow…” Sidereal said.

“Think of it like enchantment spells or talismans, only to make their machines work.” Radiant butted in. “At least that’s how I understand it once they told me.” The grey Pegasus shrugged with his wings. Angelo had mostly glossed over the subject, the Second Engineer being more familiar with hardware than software.

“Then that’s settled. One expedition to a tech company scheduled.” Dilip clapped the flat of his cream-furred paw against the table like a gavel. “Back to the subject, our observations established that the wave –or rather, waves- of the Event had some origin points.”

Sidereal took a look at a map which highlighted points of observations, wave vectors and (assumed) origin points all over Europe. It did remind her of something she had seen on maps of Equestria during her studies… Rubbing a hoof against her chin pensively, the Doctor pointed at a point on the chart near the English Channel.

“Do you know anything particular about these areas?”

Dilip leaned forward a bit to take a look.

“That’s Southampton. Not much particular about it, fair-sized port, rather industrial but that’s about it.” He shrugged.

“I didn’t take the bearing, but how accurate is it?” Raimund tried.

“Not much actually, I’d say it’s plus-or-minus four degrees, the CCTV footage wasn’t too good. Why the question?”

The German Captain levitated a pencil over the map and circled an area near a different town, some 50km North-West of the original point. At the range the bearing was taken at in Belgium, the difference was indeed below four degrees.

“There, Salisbury.” The mare stated firmly. “That would make a lot more sense.”

“What’s there in Salisbury?” Radiant asked.

“Near Salisbury.” Dilip corrected. “Stonehenge, an antique site with a circle of raised stones… and a couple ancient tombs too, I think...”

“How ancient exactly?” The Pegasus insisted.

“Thousands of years, I think it dates back to before we even discovered writing.” The pariah dog explained. “That’s a bold statement Raimund, what makes you think it’s tied to the Event?”

“Please…” She rolled her eyes. “With a site like that and magic involved, the correlation is too big to ignore. It’s not the only one either, look at the origin point you plotted in Brittany.”

“What of it?”

“I’ve been there on holidays, depending on the accuracy you either wind up in Broceliande, of all places, or in Carnac. That’s two more big places ley line nut jobs like to blabber about, and I’m pretty sure the intersection around Narvik will lead to something like Viking stones or rock carvings.”

“Did you just say ley line?” Sidereal interrupted her.

“That I did. I think I know where this is going…”

“They are a confirmed phenomenon in Equestria. The surge travelling through them... that would make sense.” The red made told.

“Called it.” Raimund sniffed. “So Doctor, care to tell us what they actually are, just so we’re on the same page?”

Sidereal started off by explaining how magic as a whole was an energy that encompassed everything around them and how it travelled. Equestrian mages had long made observations of how its intensity varied depending on the area, seemingly flowing in certain directions and concentrating in certain areas.

She likened it to a much more complicated variant of a planet’s magnetic field. Where a magnetic field could be summed up to two poles with vectors going from one to another, sometimes with a few anomalies, the ley line field was much more complex. The lines wove an intricate field of nodes and intersections, some more powerful than others but all having some form of a tie to magic. Be it a high intensity area or even a dead zone where the magic waves cancelled themselves.

“That’s nice and all but this leads to more questions than it actually answers.” Alejandro said. “I can visualize the Event creating ley lines, but the ancient sites on the supposed nodes imply they were already there to begin with.” He said, pointedly looking towards the Equestrians.

“To be fair the energy flow around this planet is quite chaotic.” Sidereal frowned. “But looking back at it, I may have indeed spotted hints of ley lines when using my mage sight. At first I assumed the chaotic flow was because they were still forming after the recent exposure to a magic surge but…” She rubbed a hoof through her mane. “…It could also be that it was an overflow.”

“Do explain.” Raimund beckoned her while quickly checking that one of her Officers had started taking notes.

“Bear with me, observations of ley lines and the global magical field through the ages have revealed that it does fluctuate in intensity over the course of several centuries. This may be why I wasn’t told the whole story and your species was so vulnerable to magic… I mean, you could have hit a sort of… long-winded magical drought, the deprivation making humans vulnerable to magic after living without it for so long. But really, it’s just a theory…” She shrugged. “The ley lines would still be there, like irrigation canals during a dry spell, gathering what little magic was left in the world. Then the surge comes and it naturally flows through the lines.”

“That makes sense… I think.” Josselin said, the French unicorn busily writing things down on a notepad. “Gives the whole notion of Disenchantment a literal meaning.”

“Disenchantment?” Radiant cocked his head quizzically.

“Entzauberung in German. It’s a concept established by Max Weber, a German sociologist, around the end of the 19th century. I don’t remember too much about it but he went on about the development of civilization and rationalization around the globe doing away with traditions and old beliefs.” He waved a brown hoof in the air vaguely. “Gone are all mysteries of magic and religion, we have science now, and as civilization and the scientific mind develop, superstitions are debunked and disappear. I mean… the guy was right in a way; you just have to compare us as sailors now with our equivalent a hundred years back. A lot less mystical and superstitious I’d say. And it’s been happening over the course of centuries.”

“That just means the theorized magical drought is echoed culturally…” Dilip mused. “To the point where it was reduced to nothing in the last century. This reminds me, do you all mind if I have something fetched from the armory? An artifact we retrieved in Belgium.”

They accepted to take a brief break to allow him to get what he wanted to show them. Cups of coffee and tea were passed around the table while some fell into idle talk, the siren they had killed the day before still present in their minds. Raimund stayed silent and carefully surveyed the mood of the Officers present in the room.

Most seemed relieved the threat of the siren was gone, but Josselin and Valentyn were having a chat with Radiant. He couldn’t hear what they were saying but it was clear his two Officers were worried about something.

Chances were, if they were talking with an Equestrian about it, it was all about monsters.

Not that they didn’t worry Raimund either. Sidereal had showed her an Equestrian bestiary when Dilip brought up the subject to recoup it with his own experiences. The kinds of beasts that could possibly be roaming Earth at the moment…

Let it be said that the retrieval of the CV90 was a great reassurance to the teenaged mare considering how big some monsters could get. Some may say the 40mm gun was overkill, she’d tell them to look at drawings of a cave troll. They definitely should give a cursory briefing about that bestiary, if only to clear up some misconceptions.

A rating eventually came back with a package wrapped in canvas he gave to Dilip. Sidereal visibly recoiled when the object came close to her.

“Captain, what in Tartarus is this?” She loudly asked.

“A sword.” Dilip stated, unrolling the canvas packaging and setting it down on the table. “What’s wrong about it, I’d very much like to know.”

Everyone came closer to take a look at it. It was the Congo Sword Bart had obtained at his unit’s regimental museum, but now the weapon was glowing even brighter. The pinkish light coming from the jewel in its power was about as strong as that of a chemlight, as well as that of the blade as they saw when Dilip pulled it out of its scabbard.

And of course there was the deep feeling of wrongness every single one of them felt when they looked at it, as if the sword was staring back at them in malice. Not that it would have surprised them if it did, what with its history…

“According to Corporal De Mesmaeker, it can either be called the Congo Sword or the Heart of Darkness, depending on who you ask.” The Indian explained, fingers drumming against the table. “He brought it to the armory a few days ago reporting it had started glowing and that it was particularly hard to lift with his telekinesis.”

“This sword is enchanted.” The red mare stated, conjuring up her mage sight. “I don’t recognize the enchantment’s type or make, but it clearly is, and it absorbs magic.”

“That would explain why it resists telekinesis…” Radiant commented, the Pegasus hovering above the assembled Officers to get a better look.

“Most likely.” Sidereal scowled at the sword. “Captain, as admirable as the craftsmanship of this sword is… it’s a magical aberration. The magic woven into it screams of pain, misery and resentment. How did this come about?”

The Captain cringed. Guess it was time to tell the ponies about the more… unpleasant aspects of human history. His eyes surveyed the attendance and landed on Erik, the centaur mare serving as the Rhine’s Chief Engineer who just so happened to be Belgian.

“Jakobs I believe? Care to tell our dear equine visitors the tale of the Congo Free State?” The dog asked her with a predatory smile.

That was going to be hard to explain…

At the same time, the veterans were doing some weapon cleaning inside Amandine’s armory. Bart was behind a workbench, busily cleaning the powder residues off of the .50 cal he had used to bring down the siren.

Artyom was working on another bench a couple meters off to the side, trying to fix the scope on his SCAR. He hadn’t noticed it at first, but firing his rifle at the range after the whole siren ordeal revealed it was off target. Considering how far he had been thrown, it really was no surprise the gun’s optic would have been damaged.

“That was a nice shot yesterday.” The dragon commented, screwdriver in claw and carefully inspecting his scope. “How far was it?”

Bart paused for a second, his dirty rag halting midair over his machinegun, wrapped in the telltale glow of his telekinesis.

“760 meters, min of meer. Easy shot with the fire control.” He shrugged. “Hoe is your injury?”

“Just a scratch.” Artyom gingerly brushed a claw over his chest. He had to remove a few of the broken scales after the incident, but there were already a couple new ones growing in their stead. No reason to be worried, he had cleaned it, put a bandage and called it a day.

That, and he had found himself nibbling on some waste metal and looted jewelry (but not the Crown Jewels this time) they had lying around. According to Equestrian books, his scales were rather weak for a dragon his age, something he intended to correct.

“Still, glad to find we’ve one more competent fighter on the crew.”

“It’s my job.” Bart said. “Been in the army since I was eighteen. I went… places.”

“Saw a lot of action?”

That actually got a genuine laugh out of the sky blue unicorn.

“Sorry… I’m Belgian, not American.” He told Artyom with a shake of his head. “I went to Afghanistan, yes, but my country doesn’t fight much. It’s always…” He hesitated. “Guard this airport, watch that checkpoint, train those militia guys, but we don’t go out looking for fights. French do, Brits do, but we?” He chuckled. “Only the luchtmacht attacks, the landmacht guards. If any of us fights, it’s because someone attacked us first, and it doesn’t happen often.”

“Sounds pessimistic.”

“Realistic.” The unicorn countered with a derisive snort. “My people don’t die often in foreign wars, and when they do it’s always very bad press. Belgium…” He sighed. “The army isn’t… wasn’t liked. Someone dies, just in an accident, and the nieuws go: don’t enlist, you’ll die, the pay is bad anyway.”

“That bad uh?”

“I’ve served during the time of the militia and the professional army.” Bart explained, looking down at his brown beret he had set down on his workbench. “When we transitioned and removed military service, it became very difficult to get new soldiers. Always was actually. Dus… most Belgian soldiers are old like me.”

“Can’t be that bad.”

“In Belgium you can only enlist if you are younger than 35. Guess the average age in the army?”

“35 I guess?” The ex-VDV shrugged.

“43 actually.” Bart smiled grimly. “Belgen never were big warriors. What about Russia?”

“What about us?” Artyom quirked his head.

“Just curious. It’s a new world, why be enemies anymore? You’re… were VDV, elite unit. I’m interested.” He said, pointing a hoof at Artyom’s beret which was poking out of his coveralls’ pocket.

Artyom paused to consider his thoughts for a moment, distractedly twirling his screwdriver in his claws.

“Don’t get me wrong, I’m proud of having been a paratrooper but… it didn’t end well and I don’t like talking about it ok? If you’re curious, just look up the First Chechen War.” The screwdriver in his claws halted its motion abruptly. “The reason I keep the beret you gave me? That’s because the rest of the crew look up to us veterans. It’s good for morale.”

“Ah… sorry. No ill taken?” Bart excused himself.

“None.” Artyom shook his head. “Leaving the past behind, you think we can get the tank to work?”

The Belgian looked off towards where he knew they had put the combat vehicles with a frown.

“No idea. We can make it work… but work well? It takes training, ervaring-err sorry, experience I meant-, and nobody has that.” He said. “I can help with the Piranhas, but that? Training takes time, and a lot of the time we have better things to do than playing with tanks.”

“Ain’t that true.” The dragon sniffed, releasing a small puff of smoke out of his nostrils. “To be honest? I doubt we will get to use it anytime soon for anything other than training.”

“No argument there.”

Much later in the afternoon, a lone Defender stopped in front of an office building. It was situated in a fairly recent, high-value quarter south of downtown Copenhagen.

Built on reclaimed land, it was very clear by the looks of the area that it had been a recent addition to the cityscape: brand new grey bricks, high-tech window frames, modern energy-efficient architecture… the whole nine yards with wide streets and freshly-planted trees all around. The sides of the canals were even filled with those modern Dutch-built houseboats, the ones that were basically a house on top of a floating concrete box. Aleksei knew the stuff; she had checked the prices of such houses in a couple countries before the Event.

Needless to say, the Latvian didn’t bother checking twice. Way too much for a concrete box in a crowded quarter. She’d rather stick to her shoddy apartment in Riga, at least that one she owned.

That didn’t mean the area didn’t bear marks of disuse, in particular when it came to the houseboats. Some of them had broken out of their moorings and drifted into others, puncturing their brittle hulls and sending them to the bottom of the shallow canals, their upper floors still above the surface. The banks of the canals now looked more like a ship graveyard than the expensive city dwellings they used to be.

The streets didn’t fare too well either. A spring tide had brought layers of silt and sand onto the asphalt, paired with clumps of seaweed some flocks of seagulls were now sifting through in search of shells and crabs. The birds had even pulled trash from nearby garbage cans which now littered the area.

“Something tell me rent would drop significantly if people came back to witness that.” Carla joked.

“Uh, they always were overpriced anyway.” Aleksei replied as she exited the 4x4 and looked at a couple seagulls ahead of them. “If I were to buy something expensive –and trust me I’ve looked around-, I’d rather take something in the countryside. You get much better surface area for the same price.”

“Hmm, dunno.” The cadet hippogriff said, sweeping the entrance of the office building with his SMG. “I’ve always rather liked the city life. Not that it matters anymore either way.”

“I think it still does. You don’t think we will keep roaming around forever do you?”

“Of course not… but will we really get a choice when we settle down?” Carla said.

“Come again?”

“I thought about it, really.” He said. “I bet you at some point we will wind up establishing some kind of HQ somewhere, if only to use it as a depot to drop off stuff we salvage from abandoned cities. So maybe we’ll wind up using a city block as a ‘sailors’ village’ so to speak. No pick on where you get to live, and no country mansion for you either.”

“Or you could just choose to live in a colony we come across.” Sandra butted in, the dark purple batpony walking inside the lobby after them.

Yeah, they had her tag along as a translator. Aleksei didn’t really speak Danish and she’d rather have her by her side than bring a dictionary. The lobby that greeted them left her little doubt this was the tech company she aimed for, what with the modern white furniture and numerous screens around. She just had to find the switchboard and their server room, and she should be able to get the coding repository she needed.

“Sure feels like we have a lot to pick from as of now.” Carla said sarcastically.

“Give it time. I for one am looking forward to when we hit Havana.” Sandra said.

“You do know it’s not going to be a holiday visit?” Aleksei warned her.

She moved over to the receptionist’s desk and started looking for a floor plan of the building. With a bit of luck a tech company would do most of their work in English.

“I’ll make do.” Sandra smiled, revealing her batpony fangs. “I know we’re very busy but it doesn’t mean we can’t spare a bit of time for leisure.”

“The Captain doesn’t like wasting time. And neither does Schmitt. Understandably so when you think about it: us not working doesn’t mean the ship stops running, and to them it feels like fuel burned with nothing gained.”

“Yeah, and there are still things that need to be done either way. We can’t just drop everything for a day. Gotta keep the kitchens staffed, the terminal guarded, someone sober on the bridge with a couple assistant in case shit goes down and so on…” Carla added to Aleksei’s explanation. “Not that you’re wrong, but it’s more complicated than just decreeing nobody’s gonna work on a particular day.”

“My bad, sorry.” She apologized sheepishly.

“Don’t be.” Aleksei patted a wing over her back. “You’re new to the industry. Usually in port we do shore leave in shifts. Not that it’s ever particularly long with Amandine considering the number of ports we gotta hit in short order. I guess now it will get a bit quieter even once we assist enough colonies to get a proper circuit. Shore leave aside, can you translate that floor plan for me? I need the switchboard to restart current in the building, and the server room.” She asked, holding out a folded piece of paper to the radio operator.

“Right, on it.”

Getting the power grid back online and finding the server room didn’t pose too much trouble. Aleksei didn’t even have any difficulty rebooting them once she found it. Rows of led lights lit up inside the room the moment she pressed the button once she got inside, revealing rack after rack of carefully wired servers whilst cooling fans spooled up above her with a loud whirr.

Numerous transparent tubes connected to the back of the servers, each filled with coolant that circled back to a cooling system suspended in a wire cage above her.

Someone had been paid a whole lot of money to make that setup. Now she only needed to figure out how to get in and copy their data…

…Which required her to figure out how to log into the system. Of fucking course she had to. How did she even forget about that part?!

“Kuces Dçls!” She screamed to the skies in frustration at her own oversight.

Or the ceiling rather. A bit less classy.

“Something wrong?” Carla asked her.

“Forgot about the whole login part.” The Latvian muttered dejectedly as she sank down to her haunches, wings limp.

“Can’t you… hack your way inside?” The other hippogriff asked, drumming his talons in a typing motion.

“Need I remind you we’re here so that I can figure out how to code properly? If I could hack into the damn thing we wouldn’t be here in the first place damn it!” She cried out, rearing up on her hooves and swiping her claw against the side of one server rack in frustration.

Carla recoiled slightly at the display, an awkward grimace on his beak. Aleksei fell back down on her haunches with a sigh, head held low. She brushed her talons through her white crest of feathers pensively for a minute or so before finally turning back to the cadet.

“Ok, new plan but this might take a while. You keep an eye on the Defender and tell the ships we will be late on the radio, Sandra and me will start looking around the offices. I bet there must have been an intern or secretary that wrote down their ID and password somewhere.”

“Wait, you’re going to rely on them being sloppy to gain access?”

“It’s not like I got a better idea.” The light-green and white hippogriff told the other. “Only chance I got at getting into that database is hoping they left a key under the metaphorical carpet.”

“Your call, I’ll be outside.” Carla shook his head and headed for the exit, leaving only Sandra and Aleksei inside.

The offices were pretty much the standard fare you would have found when searching for modern hip companies in the tech industry: roomy, with lots of plastic plants and soft tones. The furniture was fairly modern, with many workstations being equipped with those so-called ergonomic ball chairs.

It was so stereotypical the Latvian even found rolled-up yoga mats under a couple desks, and there were others that also had miniature Japanese gardens next to the computers.

“God, I know you Danes are famed for your ‘work-life balance’ but that here is just over the top.” Aleksei scowled after discovering some flyers for a ‘cornflakes saloon’ in the drawers of a desk. “So much hipster shit in there.”

“Eh, don’t mix up hipster city lifestyle with Danish culture.” Sandra replied just as she was flipping through a notebook held in the digits of her wing. Not finding anything, she tossed it aside. “A lot of us are more traditional than that, me included. I find these… trend-obsessed guys to just be vapid and devoid of any actual creativity.”

“You and me both. By the way, how do you find life on Amandine?”

“I’m getting used to it.” The batpony said. “I’m not a fan of the noise you know…” She rubbed a wing against the headphones she was wearing nearly 24/7 by now. “Bat hearing and loud generators don’t get along too well, but it sure is interesting. Many different nationalities to learn about, I find it fascinating.”

“It gets old quick. After a while you just put it aside because everyone speaks English anyway and we’re actually pretty similar from doing the same job.” The hippogriff said after she moved over to the next desk. Funnily enough, the contents usually could tell a lot about the former owner of the workstation. “Don’t get me wrong, we’re very different culturally and it’s easy to notice, but as far as work goes? Anyone that’s been in the industry long enough essentially thinks and works the same way.”

“Really?”

“Okay, maybe there are some small factors but rank and role have more impact than nationality. Officers and Engineers? Educated folks with at least a bachelor’s degree. Take the ratings? Blue collar workers, experienced and trained to work with highly technical machinery. And we’re all firefighters too. Cultural differences only start coming into play once we hang our hardhats.” Aleksei mentioned. “You’ll see once we get more sea time. By the way, I was told you were given a radio station?”

And Sandra had indeed been given the consoles for her radio station which she had set up next to her newly acquired computer inside her cabin. It still wasn’t operational because they needed to install additional antennas above the bridge, just so she wouldn’t be hogging the bridge’s when she made her broadcasts. Not a big deal really, it ought to be finished in a matter of days and she already had a couple ideas.

The dark purple batpony told Aleksei about her dreams of having her own radio station. She already had her ideas for programs and broadcasts, and her job at the maritime radio station had been intended to later lead her to entertainment radio stations.

So now she had drafted a couple ideas about a radio station meant for survivors. She could start giving advice on survival over the waves, tell them how to set up solar panels, fix up a car and even relate all the stuff they had been told by the Equestrians, or whatever they discovered. Of course, considering how spread out colonies were according to the intel they had on American colonies as of now, she had to come up with a plan to make her station available worldwide.

Satellite radio was one such plan. The ‘alliance’ of sorts they had with the HPI meant they had access to a lot of satellite services she could use to make her broadcasts. So her idea was to make use of that system to send her broadcast up to a set of geostationary satellites in orbit, which would then send it back down to receivers all around the globe. Problem was, compared to FM/AM radios, satellite receivers weren’t that common. Without an alternative, few would be able to get her message, so she needed to come up with something better.

Relays. They were still in the conceptual stage, but Sandra had started drafting a system she could use to increase the coverage of her broadcast. It was rather simple, and meant to last without the backup of a functioning power grid. A few solar cells, a small-sized wind turbine and a couple batteries would ensure it always had power for the satellite receiver which would repeat her broadcast on FM and AM waves. Not really that complicated and the unit she had drafted by then took up a fraction of the volume of a TEU. She was pretty sure making it wouldn’t be too complicated either, so they could ‘seed’ the relays wherever they went.

Of course she was no electrician but the Rhine’s had been able to provide her with some valuable insight in the matter. Johann, a German batpony, had been a tremendous help to her pet project.

“You do know…” Aleksei began.

“Ja, of course I do.” Sandra rolled her eyes, tail flicking slightly. “He’s a batpony stallion, I’m a mare, I can put two and two together thank you very much.”

“Are you leading him on?”

“Nej! Of course not! I’d never do that.” Sandra shook her head firmly. “I’ll admit though… he is a pretty sweet guy.” She smiled.

“Cupid strikes again, and here I thought spring was over…” Aleksei drawled. “Listen, I don’t want to be mean but watch what you’re doing ok?” She warned her, talon pointed at a point between the shorter pony’s eyes.

“Come again?”

“Even with the Rhine in the fleet, we’re still a very small group. I won’t stop you from fooling around, I have no right to do so… but sexual tension and relationship drama is about the last thing we need.” The hippogriff said. “Maintaining cohesion in mismatched crews like those is hard enough as it is, we don’t need love triangles and lovers’ spats driving a wedge between sailors.”

“So? What about Vadim and Micha?”

“Come on, the last thing I’d expect with those two is to split up. They were already friends before the Event, and if anything Andy will make sure they stick together. No risk of baseless drama with them.”

“So what’s your point?” She tilted her head, squinting at the hippogriff.

“Sailors may be known for fucking around, but not on our own ship, don’t shit where you eat they say. There is an advantage to being able to sail away. Don’t go spreading your legs –or maybe I should say lifting your tail- on any of the ships, not when you’ll wind up meeting ex-lovers at every turn.”

“What kind of slag do you think I am?!” Sandra raised her voice in anger, hints of the batpony scream attack seeping in her tone.

Aleksei stoically withered the outraged cry and looked the shorter mare in the eye.

“I’m not calling you one. Just making sure you’re warned. You pick a partner, good for you, but stick to your choices.” She said before lifting up a post-it note between two talons. “Found a login by the way.”

She moved off towards the server room, picking up a couple USB keys and a hard drive on the way, Sandra following silently behind her with a frown.

“What about you?” She finally broke the silence just as the hippogriff was beginning to dig into the database.

“What about me?” The hippogriff’s ears rose up.

Aleksei hit a key on the keyboard in front of her and started downloading a couple files. Behind, the batpony loudly plopped down on her belly.

“You heard me. Oddly enough considering many of us have had their gender change along with their species, couples keep popping up on both ships.” She tilted her head. “If you’re going to give me a warning you should probably heed it as well.”

“I don’t need to heed it. Contrarily to most it seems I’m actually determined to get my dick back. Don’t get me wrong, it’s cute to see a couple like Vadim and Micha or Carlos and Danny, but I’m deeply disturbed by how quick they actually got together.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, really.” She pulled out the first USB stick and shoved another in the port. “I’m no fool, I know if I want to live outside and not in a shielded bunker I’ll have to stay a hippogriff as is… but I want to and I will be male again.”

“I don’t see what this has to do with relationships.” Sandra pointed out.

“Please.” The Latvian snorted. “It has everything to do with relationships. Do you really think that Micha, who basically made herself a new family, will actually want to go back to male if someone offered her? I read the Equestrian books, griffons, they pair bond, hard.”

“So you’re just gonna stay alone? That’s sad.”

“Alone is relative.” She waved a wing dismissively. “It never bothered me before, it shouldn’t now. And considering what I got out of the Equestrians, I ain’t gonna find a solution anytime soon.”

She had cornered Sidereal one evening, having figured the Doctor would be the most knowledgeable when it came to transformation magic.

Not much luck with that however. While Sidereal did acknowledge that such changes were possible, she was in no shape or form to be able to pull such tricks with her magic. She had gone on to explain with several examples to the Latvian how most transformation spells were temporary both by design and actual limitations. Even the most powerful of unicorns would be unable to make a transformation last forever. Something about the magic of the spell lattice laid on the target wearing off overtime. Exceptions to the rule were spellcasters so powerful they were the stuff of legend, and magical surges so powerful they could affect entire planets.

Guess which she had been subjected to. Why reality had to conform to the most basic tropes found in media, she had no idea, but anyone who knew the kind of stories she read online would call her situation ironic. Sidereal had further quashed her hopes of a temporary solution by pointing out that she and all former humans produced magic, unlike Equestrians, which meant that their transformation spells would be even less effective. Talk about a downer…

Yet there was hope. Sidereal recognized that Earth and her own planet’s (Equus it was named, if she remembered correctly) magic were different. The discussion on ley lines they had had that morning and the recognition of the Heart of Darkness as a magical artifact supported that theory.

What it meant was that she would have to look for ancient artifacts that may help her with that. Not exactly the most encouraging of prospects, but as long as she had a course to follow she had no reason to give up.

Eh, for all it was worth she could go to Greece and kick a couple of mating snakes. With her luck she could piss off a God and pull a Tiresias.

“Who’s Tiresias?” Sandra asked.

“Just an old Greek myth about a dude that got turned back and forth between man and woman before pissing off Zeus and getting his eyesight taken away.”

“Wait, so you’d rather have your dick than your eyes?”

Aleksei rubbed the underside of her beak. That was a fair question.

“So where were we last time?” Angelo said, the minotaur stopping to crack his knuckles and reach for a can of energy drink in his desk.

He had a pleasant ache in his muscles from an hour-long session spent pumping iron in the gym. He had never been particularly fond of exercising before the Event, but it now felt so damn fulfilling to get some use out of his new muscles.

Carlos wasn’t as… enthused by the activity, what with parrots not being as strong as humans, but at least he did show up.

“I think we were about to enter the industrial era?” Pulp reminded him, the Earth pony pulling a chair closer to Angelo’s desk.

Radiant Course was already sitting on the other side of the minotaur who pushed the start button of his gaming rig with a thick digit. The cooling fans started rotating with a soft buzz, just as the LED lights on the rig lit up much to the awe of both Equestrians, Radiant in particular.

It always brought a smile to the Greek’s face seeing the Pegasus almost childish awe and curiosity every time he showed him a new piece of tech, however anodyne it may seem to him.

He had gone through with his idea of showing them a simplified version of human history by using one of his favorite strategy games: Civilization 5. It may not be the best, nor was it accurate by any stretch of imagination (cue Napoleon denouncing Attila in 500BC), but provided he gave them explanations, it could act as a decent support.

The ponies were no fans of the war aspect of the game, but they showed genuine interest in the development of technology, culture and the growth of empires the game displayed.

“Right, industrial era.” Angelo flicked the tip of one horn distractedly just as he clicked on the game’s icon. “Bit of problems with the Ottomans but we were starting to get our first factories.” He paused to load up their save game. “You got any of those in Equestria?”

“Not many. They’re still fairly new and ponies prefer artisan labor to manufactured goods.” Radiant told him. “Most factories are in very large cities like Manehattan and they make goods for export. Canneries and industrial looms for instance.”

“Yeah, my family operates one of those.” Pulp said. “We get our fruits from the hinterland and have them canned near the docks. Then it’s off towards less fertile lands and even some colonies.”

The display on screen changed to reveal a map of the world, still with some dark areas they had yet to discover. Angelo had set up the game so the parameters were as close as possible to reality, with historical start locations on the Earth map.

He had them play as Greece, obviously, so he could tell them about ancient history in the beginning phases they had already done earlier (that and he felt like stroking his shriveled patriotic streak). By some stroke of bad luck, they wound up near the Ottomans who wound up pestering them for most of the game and fouling their strategy. Vienna has been conquered by Suleiman.

Angelo carried on with the game like he had earlier, taking frequent pauses to tell the two ponies about history in the 19th century, the technologies they had developed in that time and what had actually happened in real history (as in: Alexander the Great didn’t really vanquish the Ottoman Empire using Gatling guns in 1860).

Turns out, Equestria and most of Equus were actually in the middle phase of their own industrial revolution. The inventions they had didn’t completely match (for instance Equestrian knowledge of firearms was basically nonexistent, though they had developed basic electrical installations rather early) but the similarities were there.

Other similarities including a really fucking weird habit ponies had of naming their cities after English or American towns with horse puns in the name. Were they aware of it? Yes. Why did they do it anyway? Pulp and Radiant just shrugged.

Just as they were starting to go into tech the ponies didn’t have, Angelo paused after giving an explanation on the importance of oil to most of their industry to grab a new can of energy drink.

“What is this? You drink a lot of that stuff.” Pulp poked the now crushed can with a hoof.

“Energy drinks. I drink coffee sometime but I prefer that when I’m just chilling. It’s not healthy, but then again neither is my job.” He shrugged. “Red Bull aside –pun intended- I got to hear Pulp’s life story but not yours Radiant.”

“It’s not exactly interesting.” The grey coated Pegasus muttered. “I’m from Cloudsdale like the overwhelming majority of Pegasi. My mom isn’t though, she immigrated there from the Crystal Empire. Never told me much about it either, and it’s so far up North I never bothered to visit.”

“Surely it gets better at some point.”

“How I got my Cutie Mark maybe.” He smiled. “Always been a fan of airships so… I snuck aboard one back when I was a foal.”

“Buck really?” Pulp laughed. “You mad colt! What happened?”

“They were only going to Canterlot so not much, but their Chief Officer showed me some of the ropes in the chart room and then…” He pointed to the vintage chart symbol on his flank. “The usual. Moral Compass that stallion was called; gave me a long talk about prospects in the industry and then pointed me to the nearest airfleet academy once we were back. Oh… and of course my mom had my hide over the incident.”

“Did you see him again?” Angelo asked.

“Moral Compass? I still see him whenever the winds bring me back to Cloudsdale, he’s become the airship dock’s Captain. Pretty sure he’s a figure most of Cloudsdale’ pegasi got to know at some point. And if you’re an airship sailor? Old stallion’s gonna treat you like family.”

“So wait… Cloudsdale is mostly pegasi?” Angelo asked.

“Well… not entirely. More like, nineteen out of twenty are pegasi, the rest are species that can cloudwalk, mostly griffons, they’re rather common there.”

“Cloudwalk?”

“We didn’t tell you?” Radiant wondered.

“Tell me what? Am I missing some big thing?”

“If by big thing you mean one of the biggest advantages pegasi have in life.” Pulp chuckled. “Winged species like pegasi and griffons can walk on clouds. Cloudsdale? Guess where the ‘cloud’ part comes from.”

“Pardon the pun, but I call bullshit.” The Greek minotaur crossed his arms, giving the two Equestrians a thoroughly unconvinced look.

“Yet the whole city floats a thousand meters above ground.” Radiant told the Greek. “It’s not even the best part. We pegasi can control weather, better than any other winged species.”

“Wha- uh… how?!”

“For one we can move clouds around, get them to drop their rain, divert storm fronts. Cloudsdale also houses Equestria’s weather factory.” The Pegasus smiled.

“Take it from an agronomist, most ponies say the Earth tribe is the reason why our crops are so damn good, but I’d say at least a third of our crop efficiency is owed to optimal weather conditions provided by the pegasi.” Pulp spoke up.

“I can imagine.” Angelo laid back in his chair. “So… what is it like? Are we speaking flying skyscrapers or…”

“More like buildings overwhelmingly made out of clouds. We do use other building materials but they need to be enchanted to connect to the clouds so they’re kind of expensive.” Radiant cracked his wings. “Lemme tell you, best bed you can find will always be a good cloud. If you want Gust and I were going to start showing the flyers tomorrow.”

“And here’s one thing I sure as Hell am going to show up to see.” The minotaur shook his head ruefully. “You know, with all the talk we’ve been having I tend to forget about magic.”

The game started going a bit faster as they snowballed through the Ottomans and started developing more modern technologies. At the ponies’ behest, Angelo stopped the war against Suleiman before they could finish him off and steered their nation towards a scientific victory. The ponies were amazed at some of the technologies humans had come up with like aviation and the internet but some…

The subject popped up the moment one of their cities exploded in a ball of nuclear fire courtesy of one ill-programmed Hindu ‘pacifist’. Angelo had cautiously avoided the topic knowing how the somewhat pacifistic ponies would react to the notion.

Of course Civilization’s Gandhi would throw a spanner in his plans, that’s what he always did.

“What the hay was that? The city’s gone!” Pulp cried out, watching the orange tint of the fallout settle on the land around the formerly bustling city.

“That… was a nuke. Remember what I said about nuclear power plants?”

“Of course. Dangerous, but their raw power is a boon to industry. Are they related?” Radiant’s ears twitched.

Another explosion popped up on screen, wiping out a minor coastal city Pulp had unfortunately chosen to rename Manehattan. The Earth Pony’s ears flattened against his head.

“They are.” Angelo muttered somberly. “In fact, nukes were invented before we started making nuclear power plants. They’re mankind’s most powerful weapon by far as you can see… and also one of our greatest fears. The immense power of a nuclear plant I spoke of? Picture that condensed in one bomb so powerful it can flatten a city.”

Both ponies were aghast at his description. They looked back and forth between the sullen minotaur and the screen before Pulp finally spoke up.

“Why?”

“Good question. They were conceived during a time of war no one had ever seen before. The entire world had been ablaze for years, with one faction refusing to surrender despite mounting losses and the death of millions. So their adversary –the United States of America- came up with nukes. And they were successful.” Angelo rested his muzzle on his fists and stared off at the screen just as Thessaloniki was destroyed as well. “They only had to use two of them before their foe finally surrendered. And once the deed was done… the world was horrified. Beforehand, weapons were powerful, yes, but never to that extent. To think that a single object could achieve such amounts of destruction… it started a primal fear in the hearts of people.”

“I can see the reason why.” Pulp drawled.

“It gets worse… or better depending on how you see it. Some of the bombs’ creators realized how significant the weapon was and started passing information on how to make them to America’ biggest rival. What ensued once they had bombs of their own… is called the MAD doctrine. Aptly named if you ask me.”

“What does it stand for?”

“Mutually Assured Destruction. Each side started making so many of the weapons they numbered in the thousands, if not tens of thousands –pardon me if I’m mistaken-. Far more powerful than the first two, and each faction had enough of them to destroy the entire planet several times over. The MAD doctrine? It means nobody ever dares going to war with the other, because if they do, nobody will win and everyone will die.” Angelo theatrically pressed a finger against a key on his keyboard. “And all that power was in the hands of a few individuals who only needed to press a button to wipe us all out.”

“But that’s crazy!”

“It is. But it worked in a way. With the exception of small-scale conflicts, no large war has ever been waged since then. Sure, you’ve got the odd civil war, independence conflicts and some insurrections but it worked overall.” Angelo rapped a knuckle against the side of his head. “People remember the day they were first used, they remember the tests made in empty wastelands with much larger bombs, that leaves a mark in their heads. I wouldn’t say most humans are particularly clever, but nobody’s dumb enough to start playing with the world-ending firecrackers.”

“You humans are crazy.” Pulp shook his head.

“Yeah, I ain’t gonna contest that.” The minotaur chuckled somberly. “If anything I’d say I’ve spent enough time on the internet to figure out we’re just as capable of achieving dumb shit as we are of doing great stuff. Hell, sometimes it’s even both at once.”

He looked back towards the screen to see that Gandhi’s nuke frenzy had abated… for now. Idly, he started up the production chain for the spaceship parts they’d need to finish the game and get their science victory.

“You know, the same tech that allowed us to fire nukes all over the globe stems from the same branch that sent some of us to the moon. It’s not a unique case either, many discoveries we’ve made in the past have been used both for ill and for good. Take chemistry for instance, that branch of science helped us sanitize our water and save millions of lives from dysentery while at the same time leading to the advent of deadly chemical weapons that can literally make your own blood turn toxic.”

Radiant paled at the mention of chemical weapons, but to the pegasus’ credit he shook it off and focused back on the screen while Pulp reclined back in his chair, deep in thought.

They were just about to finish the game when the Earth pony rasped his throat.

“The nukes… are they stored safely?”

“I think most of them were on warships but some were… oh son of bitch!” He stood up, throwing his chair back.

Sure, a lot were on board of warships but it was just as likely that many of them would be in airbases and nuclear silos. Stuff that hadn’t been taken away along with its caretakers. This meant that there were now thousands of unattended warheads all around the globe, just waiting to be swiped away by some of the intelligent monsters like the siren they had just killed.

The HPI had better have something in store against that.

Author's Note

If anyone was wondering, Broceliande is the enchanted forest in Arthurian Legends, nowadays it's assumed to be in Brittany. As for Carnac, it's a site with over 10.000 standing stones all lined up, along with a couple burial mounds and ancient tombs.

All in all, exactly the type of stuff you'd expect at a node in the ley lines.

On the matter of shore leave, that's one thing I found differs vastly between military and merchant sailors. Back in the navy I could reliably expect at least a day of shore leave when we stopped in port, but as a merchant? More often than not the leave doesn't exceed the twelve-hours treshold.

Eh, when it's not the taxpayer that's paying your harbor fees you don't waste your time.

Chapter 37: Gunnery Training

The morning of the 27th of June came in Copenhagen, and along with it a thick cloud cover that brought an end to the sunny weather they had enjoyed until then. It didn't do much to stave off the summer heat and humidity though. Some concerns were shown towards the risk of rain occurring and causing flash rust on areas of the Rhine they were still working on, but thankfully no water fell down on the still exposed and uncoated steel of the barge carrier’s new container bay.

They had yet to find the boats Amadi had proposed adding to the Rhine’s fleet of barges and tugs, but at least the structure of the container bay was nearly finished. The welders were finally free after a considerable amount of time spent building the cell guides for the containers, internal passageways and the separating bulkhead. Now the time had come to coat the freshly built structure in a layer of protective paint, set up the extensive electrical installation, and all manners of work that would make the container bay the modular structure they wanted it to be.

By the estimations of both ships’ Chief Engineers, they’d need about one more week to finish it before they could start loading containers. Already, some had been brought next to the Rhine ahead of time. Those would make up the lower layers inside the bay that they would then connect to the ship’s power grid. With the way they had made sure to install passageways inside the container bay, that should allow them to greatly extend the number of rooms available on the Rhine.

Such rooms would include additional cabins made using the humanitarian containers from the UNICEF depot, others would be the lab Camille had insisted was necessary, one made from field lab units they had found; along with a containerized MRI scanner assembled a few days earlier using equipment found in a nearby hospital.

The lab was one of the biggest reasons they needed the container bay. The HPI’s R&D department had already sent them experiment requests and offered them some very interesting financial incentives for medical scans of post-Event species.

Reverse-engineering medical potions was another incentive they’d need to account for. Discussions between Sidereal and Camille led them to having to design a new botanic/hydroponic lab in preparation for the plants the Doctor ensured were needed to create health potions.

But all these ongoing construction projects were not what drew the most attention that morning.

‘Boom!’

That merit went to the armored vehicles they were trying out. All three of their Piranhas and the CV90 had been lined up facing towards the shooting range they had made to train the Rhine’s crewmembers a while ago.

‘Boom!’ The air shook again just as the CV90 fired a single shot out of its main gun at a target a kilometer away.

They weren’t using high-explosive or fragmentation shells just yet. Instead, an extremely fast armor-piercing fin-stabilized arrow left the cannon, shedding its sabot on the way out to go pierce a hole through the yellow steel plate they were using as a target.

“Hit.” Artyom called through the headset from his position in the IFV’s commander seat, the hatch open and the blue dragon’s head poking out as he looked at the target through a pair of binoculars.

Around the vehicle, a couple sailors that weren’t saddled with duties at the moment filmed them as they tried out all the vehicles’ guns. Pulp and Radiant were even there to witness the training, both ponies wearing thick ear defenders and staring at the tall combat vehicles in awe. Remotely operated weapon systems like the Piranhas’ or even elaborate fire control systems like the one on the CV90 were miles ahead of the type of weapons the Equestrians were already acquainted with.

The sailors needed training to use them properly. A lot of training. Bart was seen trotting up and down the line of Piranhas barking orders at their gunners through the open rear ramps, the unicorn instructing them on how to properly use the guns.

Considering they were using .50 cal machineguns and a 40mm flak gun, extreme caution was necessary. Hell, even the brass the CV90 sent up in the air could be a hazard, let alone its shells. All of the trainees had gone through extensive briefings before any of the Officers would even consider handing them the AFV’s keys.

“Loading new clip, APFSDS.” Sri called from inside the turret as she inserted four new rounds in the feed system.

This would be the biggest disadvantage of the IFV, which was ironically tied to its biggest strength. While its 40mm gun made it far more powerful than any competitors like American Bradleys or British Warriors, the gun wasn’t belt-fed, unlike a Bushmaster autocannon. The gunner had to grab the ammunition by strip clips of four and load it in the feed system manually.

Hence, much slower rate of fire to offset the increased range and stopping power. But the stopping power in question was the exact reason why they felt using the IFV may not be such a bad idea. Gust had showed them some extracts from the Equestrian Bestiary, and many monsters were simply huge.

Granted, their heavy machineguns would certainly be able to cause harm to the vast majority of the monsters in the book, but the 40mm would ensure the same monsters that could tank a dozen .50 cal shots would instead be knocked out instantly with the main gun.

As for the few that wouldn’t be because of their though chitin or scales… well, that’s what the APFSDS ammunition was for. The notes they had brought back from Revingehed reported that the ammunition was powerful enough to penetrate 150mm of steel. Sri very much doubted anything short of a fucking Equestrian Godzilla would be able to shrug off that kind of firepower.

But the system was complicated to use, and even harder to maintain. The fire control system was rife with electronics and sensors Sri had been forced to learn the ins and outs of. Lock-on features, thermal imagery, fire-on-the-move stabilization and even weather sensors. All needed to be taken into account to give the IFV its ability to engage targets beyond 4000 meters.

And she hadn’t delved into the fuse programmer yet. A powerful tool to be sure, but highly technical as well, to the point where the ivory hippogriff wracked her brain for a good few hours trying to figure out how it worked.

The user manual being written in Swedish might be at fault there.

The gist of the concept with the fuse programmer was an enhancement made to the proximity fuse system in the fragmentation shells the 40mm fired. At the push of a button, the targeting computer could modify the time of detonation depending on the target.

A group of hostiles taking shelter inside a bunker or a building? Delayed detonation, so the shrapnel is released inside.

Cluster of monsters behind a ridgeline? Press the button, aim at the ridgeline and the gun corrects the aiming to have the shell explode exactly above them.

In short, the ideal system to turn the anti-air firepower of the 40mm Bofors into a ridiculously effective anti-infantry weapon… or rather anti-monster in their case.

Sri took the gun’s controls in her claws and aimed it at the next target. She felt the turret turn and rotate to the side with a loud buzz as she lined up the sights on her next target. Tag it with the rangefinder; adjust elevation, a press of the button on the fire-control to adjust for weather conditions…

“Ready!” She called to Artyom.

“Fire!” The dragon barked back.

Four booming noises rang out in quick succession the moment the hippogriff in the gunner seat pressed the trigger pedal. The two ponies outside the IFV spotted four blurs leave the barrel and strike their target dead-center. The empty brass casings were ejected high up in the air before falling back down on the concrete quays with a loud ‘clang!’.

One of them rolled to a halt next to Pulp who carefully prodded it with his hoof. He pulled it back with a wince.

“Hot?” Radiant asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Like burning coals.” The Earth Pony bit his lip, turning his gaze towards the Piranhas that were now firing short bursts at the target as well, their brass landing below the gun instead of being sent high up in the air like on the CV90. “Why does it do that?”

“Do what?”

The IFV opened fire anew so Pulp just pointed at the flying shell casings.

“Oh… I think I remember something about Bart saying the gun is technically upside down. That’s why it flies up.” The Pegasus yelled over the constant staccato of the .50 cals. “Apparently it was necessary to fit it inside the turret. I think it’s amazing.”

“And I think it’s horrifying.” Pulp frowned. “That amount of firepower…”

“You do know some countries back home have breech-loaders?” Radiant cut him off.

“Beg your pardon?”

“Airships and regular ships, most countries outfit them with cannons.” Radiant explained. “I know Equestria doesn’t… but it’s perfectly legal to arm civilian vessels –within limits of course- in at least half the countries on Equus. Sure…” He waved his wing towards the CV90. “They don’t have that kind of rate of fire but these guys don’t have magic beam projectors either.”

“What? Who the hay uses that?!” Pulp asked him wide-eyed.

“Seaquestria for sure… and I think they bought the design from another country, can’t remember which. Fact is… only Equestria is that disarmed, and since we’re not that inclined to show off the navy I’m not surprised you wouldn’t know much about weapons. Hay, let’s be happy we’re allies with the Crystal Empire ‘cause their shard cannons sure do a number on monsters.” Radiant turned back towards the IFV to see Sri rotate the turret to test-out the controls. “That being said, these guns are better weapons than ours, I’ll give you that.”

“Wait… so if we have cannons, why does Gust use a crossbow again?”

“Everfree Rangers ain’t military you doofus.” Radiant chuckled. “I think they’re under the Department of Forestry and Natural Resources… don't quote me on that tho’. That, and they need to use their specialized arrowheads. Can’t shoot arrows from a musket now.”

Pulp just decided to drop the subject and focus back on the big guns the sailors were training with. Horrifying or not… they did manage to eliminate a threat anypony would have deemed to be Pillar-level.

Though considering what his pegasus friend had just told him, maybe he’d need to look into what the Equestrian army was doing beside just the Royal Guards and the Wonderbolts.

“Captain, may I have a word with you?”

Dilip set down his binoculars and turned halfway from his position on Amandine’s starboard bridge wing to look at Sidereal. The mare was looking a bit frazzled, with her red mane sticking out at odd angles and bags under her large eyes. He caught a hint of worry in her eyes.

“Of course. What’s the matter? Is it about the training of some crewmembers?”

“Not at all.” She shook her head firmly, which didn't help the state of her mane. “I couldn’t sleep last night so I delved a bit deeper into my research.”

“Which topic then? The ley lines or the monsters?” The pariah dog inquired, one ear twitching slightly.

“Bit of both. I… commandeered some of the crystals they extracted out of Anton first.”

“I take it it’s something your kin faced in the past.” He turned his back to her to stare off in the distance towards where the vehicles were practicing.

“But not with sirens.” Sidereal pointed out. “I took the liberty of teleporting back to the fort to check something.”

“The carcass.” Dilip didn’t turn around but a scowl appeared on his muzzle. “Risky.”

“Captain… the siren bore the same symptoms of crystalline infection as Anton… albeit much more acute. I have no doubt that the siren was controlling Anton herself… but the crystals came from something else. They’ve been used against Equestria in the past by a former unicorn that was corrupted. By what, nopony ever discovered. But it’s back, and it’s powerful enough to take control of creatures like sirens.”

Dilip brushed a paw against the underside of his jaw. Shame they didn’t make it a habit of inspecting monsters they killed.

“The unicorn?”

“Sombra was taken care of years ago. This entire thing worries me, and I won’t have actual answers until we get the data I asked for in my previous report. What I can tell you for now is… mysterious sigils, monsters, crystals and ancient threats, those are things my countryponies faced and defeated in the past. But all at once?”

“Is it the first time they team up like that?”

“No, but not to such an extent.”

Dilip’s fingers drummed against the railing for a couple seconds before he lifted his head slightly.

“Are the crystals infectious?”

“No, they’re a physical manifestation of something else. A form of magical corruption most likely, which I assume is how it got transmitted to Anton.”

“How come?”

“The enthrallment set upon her by the siren is… some form of imprinting in a manner of speaking. If the siren’s magic is infected, then I believe the infection could spread down to enthralled ponies. Not sure though… that’s some extremely dark and illegal magic right there.”

“Can’t say I’m surprised to learn that. As long as it doesn’t spread to my or Raimund’s sailors then it’s fine.” He paused. “Well, it isn’t really. I’d wager that siren is only the beginning of something far worse. Whatever brought her here likely brought the monsters as well.” His paw tightened against the railing. “I wouldn’t be surprised if any… villain for a lack of a better term heard of what was going on here and decided to profit off the power vacuum. Lots of riches around the planet to take for themselves after all.” He concluded with a sniff, tail going still.

“That’s not the only thing.” Sidereal continued, joining Dilip’s side and propping herself up against the railing with her forehooves.

Down on the quays, the vehicles had stopped their gunnery training and were now in the process of figuring out how to properly drive with them. Not an easy thing to do considering the poor visibility AFV’s typically allowed their drivers. Despite Bart’s continuous advice, they could see them bumping into traffic cones (crushing them in the CV90's case) the unicorn had set down for them to maneuver around. The Belgian had his work cut out for him.

Dilip gestured for Sidereal to go on with his paw.

“I also decided to cast mage sight and compare what I saw to the data you have charted.”

“So?”

“Stonehenge was a correct assumption apparently. For France, it’s a bit dubious but that’s mostly owed to the sheer amount of ancient sites present in Brittany. I also looked North, and I think I have a fix on another convergence point in the ley lines, this one a bit closer.”

“Where exactly?”

“A couple miles south of Narvik, in Norway. Just as predicted. ” She told him. “It’s rather powerful too, and ancient.”

“Narvik isn’t exactly what I’d call ‘close’ Doctor, with all due respect.” Dilip clicked his tongue. “But I’ll agree this might yield some information on ancient human… magic.” He said the last word almost in a hiss. “That being said… I’m mostly curious about late effects of the… Disenchantment we spoke of. The Heart of Darkness isn’t that old, and its reaction to the magical field at least proves that magic ‘dried up’ after it was created.”

“If anything Captain, the phenomenon didn’t necessarily occur overnight. I’d say your best chances at finding out what happened would be archeological museums.”

“Not art?”

“Won’t do.” She shook her head. “I’d be surprised to hear of magical paintings and statues. You need practical items, or something really significant. Ancient tools, weapons, religious idols, the works.” She waved a hoof around to highlight what she was saying.

“I may have a hypothesis.” Dilip turned towards her. “The magical field uh…”

“Shoot, no idea is worth rejecting as far as I’m concerned.”

“Yes, well. I had a look at the theory Josselin mentioned and I was wondering… hmm, how do I put it? Ah, would it be possible that the magic dries up first in certain areas of the world before it reached a global point? So that certain countries –in the Heart of Darkness’ case, Congo- would still have a bit of magic left over, a few centuries after the rest of the world basically lost it?”

Sidereal blinked a few times at the Indian before scratching the back of her head with a hoof, raising her eyes towards the sky.

“Technically it would be possible. I mean… it’s already proven that the intensity of the magical field isn’t constant all over Equus. The process would have to be slow considering humans eventually became deathly allergic to magic and you’d have noticed if people started dying for no reason when they went there… but provided it was at a very low level I don’t see any reason to discard the theory. Not that I have anything to prove it either for that matter.”

“How could it be proven then?” The dog inquired.

“Maybe…” Sidereal frowned. “Provided looking through the inventories of archeological museums does yield magical artifacts, then it might be feasible to do a comparative study of their power and plot their origins. That could give you an idea on how strong the field was, at a given time, in certain areas of the world. All that work is no small feat though…”

“Indeed.” The Captain sighed. “Given the amount of work that keeps piling up on my plate and the lengths my crew will have to go through to keep Amandine operational, then there’s no guarantee we will ever be able to do that. I mean, sure it’s interesting and it’s important… but yesterday I had one of my Engineers share some concerns about unattended nuclear weapons. That, unfortunately, is more important than historical research. On a brighter note, how is the magical training going?”

The red unicorn mare smiled and went on to tell him how she and Cheese were training the unicorns from both ships. She had requested for several spell books to be delivered with the answer to her previous report so they would have some way to improve once her group left them. Hence, she was focusing on the general aspects at the moment: the basics of spellcraft, a couple of handy parlor tricks and most of all, a training regimen so the unicorns would be able to improve their magical abilities on their own.

Already some of them were showing signs of mastering new spells. Energy blasts –though still far below even a taser in power-, light orbs, and even one stallion that had figured the basics of an invisibility spell by making his skin semi-transparent (though she assumed his Cutie Mark had something to do with it).

“Fascinating things those Cutie Marks. Doubt we will keep calling them that in the future… but interesting stuff.” Dilip commented idly. “I doubt I’d want one though…”

“Why is that so? They’re really useful to figure out your path in life.” Sidereal said. After all, her own spell lattice of a Mark was what pushed her to become a Doctor in magical theory.

“Humans don’t work that way and I think the tortuous path of not knowing what we’re meant to do is what makes life interesting. Granted, I’m a bad example of that but I couldn’t fathom that a symbol on my skin could force me to forever be a sailor.” The Diamond Dog’s tail twitched. “Take my Chief Officer for instance, Alejandro. He wasn’t a sailor in the beginning you know.”

“So what did he do?”

“Here’s what I got from him: started off as a clerk in his father’s bank in Galicia; then he spared some money to go to Barcelona and study criminology.”

“Criminology? Really?”

“Surprised me too. Didn’t work out, but he used that to get into the Servicio de Vigilancia Aduanera once he was done studying –that’s basically his country’s equivalent of customs and border protection- where he worked a couple years.”

“Wait, if he was working with customs, then how did he wind up here, of all places?” Sidereal quirked her head and blinked at him. “That doesn’t make any sense!”

“We humans like to grab ‘sense’ and throw it out of the proverbial window.” Dilip chuckled lightly before crossing his arms and leaning on the railing some more. “He worked there a couple years as far as I recall. Went all over Spain from Ceuta to Santander during that time. I don’t know why, I don’t know how but at some point his work with customs got him interested in sailing. He took up yachting and some evening courses to study navigation and found himself an entry-level job in Puerto Real as a dry-dock inspector.”

“How do you even get an entry-level job as an inspector?!”

“Bribery I’d assume.” Dilip explained, much to the unicorn’s consternation. “Sorry Doc but baksheeshes are a thing. I may not condone it, but I at least have to acknowledge their existence. He’s competent at what he does anyway, that much I can attest.” The pariah dog told her with a shrug. “Rest of the story then… he works there a couple years and starts looking for something that actually gets him to sea. There comes Cobelfret –that’s the company that owned Amandine before the Event if you were wondering- when they were looking for a dry-dock expert to assist in fleet management. A bit of haggling here and there, and he manages to get a contract as a consultant for dry-docking during certain periods while serving on their ships the rest of the time.”

Dilip stopped and rubbed his chin pensively upon saying that.

“Come to think of it I’m pretty sure he moved to Luxembourg at that point to get closer to the company’s offices. Anyway…” He clicked his tongue. “…After a couple years he transferred to Amandine under my service as Second Officer back when I was working with a Greek nearing retirement as my Chief Officer. He took the position when the guy retired and then… You got the present situation. From banking clerk at a family-run bank to full-blown Chief Officer. Somehow, he also knows martial arts and, I kid you not, leathercraft. Do you see my point?”

“I think I do…” Sidereal muttered.

“If humans had those Cutie Marks of yours, we wouldn’t wind up with stories like that. You’d wind up with a baking-related Mark and spend your whole life in a bakery. Some of the best stories in human culture are about wanderers seeking their path in life you know.”

“We do get that comment a lot from species without Cutie Marks.” She admitted with a wince. “But really, single-career lives are a thing of the past. Equestria has grown… you can’t necessarily have ponies get the job they want, so sometimes you wind up with ponies having to work jobs that don’t fit their Marks. I’m a lucky one, magic-related Marks aren’t that common, and having one gives me an edge in the industry.”

“That potent uh?”

“Absolutely. Cutie Marks related to magic may be limited in scope, but the area they cover is guaranteed to allow its bearer excellent proficiency and skill in that area. In some cases to the point where they can almost rival an alicorn.”

“Ali-what now?”

“A rare species of pony. They get wings, a horn, and the strength of Earth ponies. Their existence is… complicated.” She mumbled. “What matters is that they’re ridiculously powerful, some even immortal. They’re far beyond the limitations of any other pony if their Mark doesn’t specialize in a specific area. Take a unicorn with a teleportation-related Mark… they could easily get you halfway across the planet or even in lower orbit with their spell. A Pegasus with a speed-based mark? Sonic booms galore.” She snorted. “And don’t get me started on weightlifting Earth ponies… at that point it’s like an ant throwing an elephant around regardless of physics.”

“Now that’s something I’d want to see.”

“Believe me Captain, you don’t.” She replied with a scowl.

Particularly when said mare was roid-raging.

Alejandro turned his fall into a roll and ended up dropping on one knee, panting. In front of him he saw Artyom take a few steps back before dropping on one knee as well, the dragon’s maw parting slightly to let out a few tired gasps.

The hyacinth macaw was clad in a blue gi with a brown belt bearing a few notches tying it around his waist. Being a male parrot, the Spaniard was on the shorter, burlier side compared to the tall and statuesque hens like Geert or Danny. His feathery chest heaved from the exertion before he brought it back under control, a small smile parting the mandibles of his beak.

Unlike the Chief Officer, Artyom didn’t have a gi. The Russian veteran wore a white tank top on his shoulders to go with a pair of sport shorts he had quickly modified to allow room for his draconic tail. One of the tank top’s shoulders had been torn at some point, revealing the lighter scales on the dragon’s chest, some hidden underneath bandages, Artyom still recovering from the injury caused by Sonata. If it caused him any pain, he didn’t show it.

The two middle-aged sailors were sparring inside of Amandine’s gym, most of the equipment having been pushed to the sides to make room for the training mats. The ventilation was on full-blast to stave off the summer heat and pungent smell, almost drowning out the rock music coming from a speaker Alejandro had set down on a bench.

“Ready for the next round?” The macaw smirked at the dragon.

“You bet.” Artyom’s red eyes met Alejandro’s amber-colored ones in challenge.

Both of them stood up and fell into their stances in perfect sync. Alejandro’s preferred art was BJJ, a style that focused on grappling, ground techniques and pinning your opponent down, which explained why his stance was held close to the ground with his torso bent forward at an angle, arms braced in front of him and knees bent, ready to receive the Russian’s assault.

Artyom’s style was completely different. Rusty as he was after not practicing for decades, he still remembered what he was taught during his time with the VDV. Systema was the name of the style, unorthodox, rather nebulous when compared to traditional martial arts, but versatile. He took position with his torso sideways on to Alejandro, one defensive claw held forward, the other backward; ready to lash out at the first opening.

The dragon’s stance only served to heighten how much taller he was compared to the Spanish parrot. That would have made him confident, had it not been for two little things:

One: male parrots are particularly burly despite their short size.

Two: while his style may have grappling techniques, Alejandro was at a clear advantage by using BJJ. His only hope of winning against the Chief Officer was to use his longer limbs to prevent him from getting into grappling and ground-fighting territory. That wasn’t going to be easy considering how bloody fast the parrot was.

On the plus side, Systema’s approach to fighting made it natural to adapt the style to include his wings and tail. He had even managed to win one round by surprising Alejandro when he cuffed him with his wing before sweeping his legs using his tail.

That had only worked once however. The next time he tried that Alejandro was ready to show him how he was ready to use the extra limbs against him.

He caught a flicker of movement. Alejandro shifting his weight on one leg. In an instant the parrot was on him, starting the round with a jab to his face. By reflex more than by conscious movement, Artyom deflected the strike only for it to then hit his wing. The dragon winced and shifted his hips to go in for a kick.

Which Alejandro just dodged by leaning backwards; but Artyom kept up his assault. He let his inertia carry him and followed up on his kick with a tail strike his opponent halted with a raised forearm. Before Alejandro could capitalize on the block and grapple his tail, Artyom turned around and attempted a gut punch.

No dice. Alej’ just slid past the punch and delivered him a swift jab to the armpit, quickly followed up by a kick to the knee which sent Artyom down. Had it not been for a swift hit with his wing, the parrot would have taken the win right there.

“The fuck are you doing?” Artyom growled.

“Alternating styles.” Alejandro bounced on his feet. “Been doing grappling for the last few rounds, gotta train something else at some point.” He added, bending his knees backwards in an improvised stance the dragon didn’t recognize.

That the parrot could casually bend his knees that way made him a bit queasy. Sure, it may have been natural for him, and it even made it rather hard to topple him… but it still didn’t sit right in the blue dragon’s mind.

“Now you’re just getting cocky Chief.” Artyom resumed his initial stance, a puff of smoke escaping his nostrils.

“Maybe I am.” Alej’ smirked, one knee bending forward and the other backward. He knew the dragon hating seeing him do that. “Entonces, what are you gonna do about it?” He taunted, the Spaniard making the ‘come here’ motion using the prehensile claws on his feet.

To that, he answered by spreading out his wings and giving a single flap, propelling himself forward. In an instant, he was on the parrot throwing a flurry of punches and putting him on the defensive. Alej’ managed to counter a few punches with jabs of his own, but the dragon’s natural toughness allowed him to casually shrug off the comparatively weaker hits and keep up the offense.

That didn’t mean he actually managed to get any good hit on the parrot either. Alej’s speed allowed him to deflect or block the dragon’s gloved claws with his meaty forearms as their path led them in a circle around the gym’s training mats.

Let it be said that if there was an advantage people tended to forget with Systema, it was the breath work, and it was certainly the one thing Artyom remembered best. It allowed him to keep his cool and his actions focused, mind running and analyzing the opponent in front of him. He could see the parrot was starting to get winded from the constant barrage, how his blocks and deflects were starting to get sluggish.

Compared to the other, shorter rounds, Artyom had finally discovered how to get at Alejandro.

Endurance.

Alej' was way too focused on defending to realize the scheming look the dragon was sporting. Block left, deflect right, and dodge backwards. His breath was coming in ragged, the feather crest on his head starting to stick to his skull from all the sweat that was pouring out of the pores between his feathers.

When Artyom finally deemed his adversary ripe for the finishing move, he went all in. he pushed through a punch Alejandro delivered to his shoulder to administer him a powerful knee to the gut that was quickly followed by a shoulder toss that successfully pinned the parrot on his belly.

He pressed a claw against the pinned parrot’s throat. Alejandro didn’t try to get out of the pin and chose to tap out instead.

“That’s a win for me.” He smirked before helping the Chief Officer up.

“Going for the long run now eh?” Alejandro panted.

“So sue me right? Seems to be the only way I can win with you.”

Alejandro went to grab a bottle of water on the bench next to the speaker, turning around quickly to toss the dragon another.

“The only way you can win until I figure out a way around that strategy that is.” The parrot taunted between two gulps of water.

“Can’t you just let me bask in my victory for a second?” Artyom rolled his eyes before taking a sip of his water.

Disadvantage of being a dragon 101: your body temperature is so high that regardless of how cold your water is, you could brew tea in it by the time it reaches your gut. And he’d readily bet the Captain would have loved being able to pull a trick like that.

“Want to go for another round or two?” The dragon offered.

“Lo siento, but no can do.” The Spaniard told him as he eyed the clock on the wall. “Gotta hit the shower now, plenty of work rethinking harbor security after the siren’s attack.”

“You do your stuff. I’ll be tidying up and pumpin’ iron.”

The highlight of the day occurred in mid-afternoon. The armored vehicles had been put back in storage by then, allowing most sailors to focus back on training with the Equestrians or continue working on the Rhine.

A couple flyers were seen training under Gust’s guidance by the container stacks, some already having managed to maintain their altitude and even climb a few meters. Unsurprisingly, Vadim and Micha were in the lead when it came to flying, both having now moved on to trying to stay aloft as long as they could. There were also a couple of dragons and gargoyles that had joined the group of trainees (including a reluctant Artyom) now that Gust and Radiant deemed the quadrupeds sufficiently trained that they could spare a bit of their attention towards training bipeds. The Everfree Ranger himself had admitted to not being familiar with that style of flying, so the training was bound to be slow-going.

From his position on Amandine’s bridge, a still damp Alejandro could see how Gust had somehow grabbed a piece from a passing cloud and brought it down to ground level so that his ‘pupils’ could get a try at touching it.

Frankly the Spaniard would have never believed it were it not for the fact that he could see Andy happily playing in the wispy piece of cloud as if it were a big ball of cotton.

On the other end of the docks he spotted Sidereal trot up to the spot she had used to send out her message the day before the siren attacked. There still was a circle burned into the ground there, Cheese and Dilip following closely behind. The dog’s paw reached for a walkie-talkie hanging off his neck, the bridge’s radio crackling to life a second later.

“Captain to bridge, be advised: we are about to receive a message using the Equestrian system. Do not raise the alarm for the ensuing flash of light. Over.”

Alejandro replied with a curt ‘roger’ that was quickly echoed by whichever Officer was on watch on the Rhine’s bridge at the time. With the way both ships were moored the bridges were nearly 400 meters apart so he couldn’t really tell at a glance. He moved over to a console close to the windows and gingerly watched the ensuing show.

There was indeed a flash of light, but what appeared in the circle in front of Sidereal was only a single sheet of paper. The unicorn snatched it in her telekinesis and did a double-take. She urgently barked something at Dilip. Going by the Indian’s body language, he was equally as surprised as she was because his ears flattened against his skull, walkie-talkie flying to his muzzle.

“This is Captain Prateek. Emergency procedure: all flyers are to land immediately and remain grounded until further notice. Out.”

What?

A sailor with a radio passed the message to the flyers by the container stacks. They all immediately stopped training and turned in the general direction of Sidereal. Work seemed to cease on board of the Rhine as well, sailors gathering against the railing to observe what was going on.

The magic circle lit up once more. This time, instead of a sheet of paper appearing in a flash of light, a bright orb shot up towards the sky before stopping some 200 meters above the quays. A thin electric arc descended back from the orb to the initial circle with a sharp crackle, the smell of ozone starting to permeate the air.

For a couple seconds, the air stood still before the arc split up in two. Both arcs of lightning moved further apart over the course of a minute to finally form a gigantic triangle with the ground as its base. It was easily two hundred meters wide, taking up a large portion of the docks' width. They were fortunate it didn’t hit anything, Alejandro wasn’t too sure anything could have stood up to the intense arcs of lightning that had just charred a black line in the asphalt and concrete that made up the ground.

And then…

One instant, you could see through the triangle just fine. Next thing they knew, an inky black darkness took up the space inside the triangle. Alej’ was pretty sure the black tone of the portal (because what else could it possibly be?) could have given that Vantablack they advertised before the Event a run for its money.

The ‘blackness’ didn’t last forever. Soon enough, something came out.

An airship, of all things. And it didn’t match anything humans had ever come up with to boot.

Two long white rigid canvas-covered balloons supported a wide structure built between them. An engine nacelle poked out of the back of each balloon with a propeller facing backwards pushing the ship forward through the portal. Neither of the balloons was completely featureless either: they sported the control surfaces, a handful of fins that were most likely used to steer the ship. Two small funnels emerged out of each balloon’s aft section, along with a pair of small portholes that allowed light to stream inside what must have been the airship’s equivalent to an engine room. The front of each balloon was also gracefully decorated with a pattern of multicolored lines that reminded Alejandro of a scarlet macaw’s wing feathers.

The structure in the middle could barely be called a canopy. Its varnished wood and green-painted aluminum girders kept the two balloons together and likely housed the accommodation, with a single mast proudly towering above it. Beneath that central structure hung a box-shaped extension that reached just below either balloon. Most likely the cargo hold. On either side of the aforementioned box, the airship’s name was proudly painted on the green and silver-painted aluminum plates that protected the hold.

SS Sirocco

Finally, a narrow structure extended in front of the ship, rising at a shallow angle above the central structure and peeking far enough up and forward that it could see beyond the balloons on either side and above them. Going by the myriad of glass panels that covered the whole front of that part of the vessel, Alejandro assumed it was where the bridge was located… or cockpit, depending on what her Captain preferred to call it. He managed to spot a bipedal figure strapped down in a chair behind the controls before the airship rotated to show Amandine her stern and started descending. In passing he took note of the two breech-loaded swivel guns installed on top of Sirocco’s monkey bridge.

The airship wasn’t even that big, only reaching a third of the length of Amandine and about as wide as she was. At a glance, she must have been about five stories tall from the bottom of her cargo hold to her monkey bridge if Alejandro guessed correctly. Eight stories tall if he counted the mast.

Not really the biggest of ships. Then again, compared to human airships her balloons were tiny. Whatever trick they used to keep her aloft, it was way better than helium or hydrogen.

The portal closed quickly after the ship went through, leaving only the scorch marks on the ground as a proof that it was ever there. As for the Sirocco, she deployed four landing claws out of each corner of her cargo hold before finally touching down. Her props stopped spinning a minute later.

A sliding door opened out of the back of the vessel’s cargo hold before two bipedal figures Alejandro couldn’t really make out lowered a wide ramp down to the ground.

What he could make out was the figure that emerged out of the airship’s cockpit onto the back of the vessel. A white parrot with a green crest of feathers wearing a duffle coat. She walked all the way to the back of her vessel to peer down at the sailors on the docks, claws on her hips and a proud smile on her beak. Alejandro’s eyes slid over the curves her thick coat utterly failed to hide, admiring in passing the luster of her tail feathers, completely unaware of the chatter that had sprung up on the VHF.

Down on the docks, Dilip stared thoughtfully at the landed airship.

“Did you actually ask for that Doctor?”

“Not at all Captain.” Sidereal shook her head as she too looked at the ship in wonder. “I just sent my report along with a request for documentation I needed and some gear.” She waved a hoof at the ship. “That seems a bit much when compared to what I needed.”

“Any idea where they’re from?”

The mare’s gaze flew towards the mast that towered above the airship’s structure. There flew the colors of…

“Ornithia.” She muttered as she trotted closer to the airship’s rear ramp.

“Allies?” Dilip inquired, one ear flicking as he listened in to what was being said on the VHF. Lots of panicked comments and inquiries, but nothing alarming… yet.

“They’re the homeland of parrots.” She frowned. “A nation of sailors and aviators, but we typically don’t call parrots Ornithians because of their diaspora. This one is definitely a cargo airship, so no worries about them being pirates.”

Dilip’s muzzle turned towards her at the remark.

“You have a piracy problem on Equus?”

“Not really. They’re more like mercenaries nowadays… corsairs I mean.” She stopped a short distance away from the ramp. “Equestria recently signed a free trade agreement with them, mostly for agricultural products, these guys have some really interesting alchemical components in their jungles.”

The airship’s landing claws held it two meters high in the air, way above both of them with its bulk casting a large shadow down on the docks. Its ramp touched down on the ground with a loud ‘clang!’, finally allowing Dilip to get a look at its occupants.

Standing in the rear door of the craft like aliens about to make first contact were two bipeds. One was a cat –or Abyssinian rather- with long orange fur. He was wearing a suit that would not have looked out of place on a Victorian-era adventurer: knee-high leather boots, some loose bottle green suit pants held up by a wide belt to which he had attached a couple finely-crafted leather pouches, a saber, and a flintlock pistol. His attire was then completed by a white shirt with a waistcoat and a tie, as well as a bowler hat and a pair of goggles the middle-aged Abyssinian wore around his neck.

The height difference caused by him standing at the top of the ramp bellied his relatively short stature, an oddity considering Abyssinians tended to be on the taller end of the scale. If his attire wasn’t enough of an indication, the way he carried himself with an air of nobility and calm confidence made it very clear he was more than just your run-of-the-mill blue collar sailor.

Standing a little ways behind him and to his side was a young-looking gargoyle; about as tall as the Abyssinian he accompanied which actually was fairly tall by his species’ standards. He sported a dark green coat of fur to go with his red mane he wore trimmed down to a short cut. His clothing was made out of a simple white woolen tunic that hung all the way down to his knees to go with a brown cloak hiding his wings. Unlike the Abyssinian, he didn’t carry any weapons on his person, instead wearing some sort of leather utility rig above his tunic fitted with several pouches and, most noticeably, a glowing fist-sized gem in the middle of his chest where the straps of the rig crossed.

And for some reason the gargoyle also had a broken antler.

The Abyssinian confidently strode down the ramp and approached Dilip and Sidereal.

“Greetings. My name is Sir Armiger, recently dispatched by the Abyssinian Crown to provide off-world humanitarian relief. To whom do I have the honor to speak with?” He said, offering his paw to Dilip.

The Diamond Dog appraised the Abyssinian with a careful look before firmly grasping the proffered paw.

“Captain Prateek of M/V Amandine.” The Indian presented himself as he jabbed a thumb towards Amandine’s grey and white silhouette. “Is this vessel yours?” He asked, politely motioning towards Sirocco with one cream-furred paw.

“No, Sirocco’s mine.” A raspy feminine voice came from above them.

Dilip raised his head only to see a form jump over the railing on top of Sirocco’s main and drop down the whole five stories to their level in a flash accompanied by the rustling of feathers against air. It casually landed in a crouch in front of them before standing up to its full height proudly.

A height that was not negligible considering it was actually a female parrot, tall as they were compared to their male brethren. Her off-white feathers were hidden beneath a pair of loose work pants that accompanied her sleeveless blue duffle coat. The markings and ranks on it left little doubt as to who she was exactly: Sirocco’s Captain.

Her arms and legs were partly covered by several wooden bracelets which almost hid the orange-ish scaly hide on the parrot’s extremities.

She stood up and shoved her claws down in her pockets in a pose brimming with the sort of casual confidence that came when you considered yourself in perfect control of the situation, a small smirk on her orange beak and a twinkle in her pink eyes. Neither Sidereal nor Dilip missed the large scar that crossed her throat, most likely the reason behind her raspy voice.

That, or the large handlebar of a cigar she had in her beak, either worked.

Much like Sir Armiger, she was armed. A pair of falchions, along with two flintlock pistols were firmly secured to holsters on her belt.

“The name’s Captain Ceylan, of SS Sirocco.” She rasped out in a Portuguese accent, one claw leaving her pocket to brush through her emerald-green crest of feathers. “Sir Armiger here is actually the charterer of this expedition.”

“Well met then.” Dilip nodded. “Who’s the gargoyle?” He said, eyeing the mage standing behind Armiger.

“Derek… Derek Fireburst.” The aforementioned gargoyle stuttered. “I’m Sir Armiger’s bodyguard.” He said, crossing his arms to appear more confident.

Dilip quirked an eyebrow at the display and turned an inquisitive look towards the Abyssinian.

“As he said.” The cat smiled.

“Excuse me!” Sidereal interjected, gaining some looks from the newcomers. “Doctor Sidereal Venture, Equestria’s representative with this group of survivors.” She presented herself. “How come you were sent here in the first place? I remember asking for documentation not…” She waved a hoof towards Sirocco. “… something quite as grand as this.”

“It’s both a little change of plans and an investment on my part.” Armiger said. “Your report has been followed by many similar ones sent by other teams from all nations involved in the humanitarian mission. It’s been deemed too dangerous to send ground teams like yours with the presence of monsters.”

“That and you did ask for a lot of documentation. Panthera’s university wasn’t too enthusiastic at the prospect of parting with that amount of books. The printing costs alone were... considerable to put it mildly.” Derek added.

“Thankfully funding was helped along by yours truly.” Armiger boasted. “All useful data, as much to help the locals…” He turned his eyes towards Sidereal. “… as to assist secluded ponies who are at a loss when faced with foreign species.”

Sidereal’s jaw tightened, the red mare throwing the Abyssinian an outraged look before closing her eyes and releasing a long sigh.

“Fair enough… that’s not totally inaccurate.” She ground out. “About this change of plan?”

“Sirocco isn’t the only airship that’s been dispatched to reinforce relief teams. Naturally, they’re that much harder to send across the inter-world divide, so a couple teams had to be called off and retreat.” Captain Ceylan told the pony. “Yours isn’t. Once you’re done here you’ll accompany us along an updated patrol route. And this ain’t the worst thing yet…” She concluded, giving a side glance towards Derek.

“The situation’s bad.” The gargoyle mage told Sidereal, shoulders slumped. “Your report on runic circles and monsters has done the rounds in academic circles. They found a match… several as a matter of fact. We… we do have an explanation as to where they must be coming from, but I doubt you’d like its implications.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Dilip spied the approaching pink silhouette of Raimund. With a polite cough, he stopped the young gargoyle before he could start his explanation.

“If I may?” He asked. “I believe we’d be more comfortable discussing such a, ahem… sensitive matter in the company of my fellow Captain. Please, meet Captain Gerig, of M/V Rhine Forest.” He said, waving a paw towards Raimund.

The German-turned-unicorn-filly came to a halt next to the Indian, an embarrassingly cute scowl on the Captain’s muzzle.

“What’s going on here?” She barked.

Before the newcomers could raise any questions about the age of the filly and why she even was a Captain, Sidereal discreetly got their attention and mouthed a ‘don’t ask’ at them.

“Sidereal requested documents, they’re here to deliver them, and reinforce her team. Say they got bad news.” Dilip summed up, arms crossed.

The elderly German in a filly’s body eyed all the newcomers for a couple seconds, tail flicking from side to side.

“If it’s that important then let’s have that talk in my office. Do you mind if Officers attend the meeting?”

And on that note, the pink filly beckoned the newcomers towards her vessel.

Author's Note

Little pink unicorn turns up, says she's the Captain of that big black ship you see in the background... Yeah, if peeps didn't tell newcomers she's not a lying brat that got lost where she shouldn't, I doubt many would actually believe Raimund is Rhine's Captain.

I also can't help but find the idea of a tiny pink filly barking orders in German at a crew of experienced sailors... kinda humorous to say the least.

'Experienced' being a relative term, 'cause Rhine's crew list (which I'll get around to publishing with the data sheet once I hit a point where it's not spoiler material) features no less than six cadets. A bit much by merchant standards.

Chapter 38: There Be Demons

Derek pulled out a thick manila folder out of a satchel and slid it across the table towards the two Captains. The pink filly –Captain Gerig if he had heard right- cast a side glance towards the Diamond Dog before opening it with her telekinesis. What greeted her inside were multiple files with annexed pictures, notes and drawings, the first of which being a sigil…

“That looks like the kind of symbols we found on the monsters’ summoning circles.” She commented.

“Because it is. Cross-referencing it wasn’t easy… but they found a match in a couple extremely old archives all over Equus.” The young gargoyle asserted, his previous awkwardness absent now that he was talking about a subject he was more familiar with.

“How old exactly?”

“A couple thousand years, give or take a few centuries.” Derek crossed his arms. “Demons.”

“Actual demons?” Raimund raised her eyebrows. “That’s uh… bad. Above our paygrade I’m afraid…”

“It gets worse.” Derek added with a scowl before motioning for the small unicorn to turn the page. “As if the demonic influence in the matter wasn’t enough… it appears your planet is going to be on the receiving end of several threats.”

Next to Raimund, Dilip leaned back in his chair.

“Explain.”

“The demons… they’re a threat that was considered done with for the longest time. They were vanquished long ago –or as it turns out, neutralized- when alicorn-level entities came to power. We’re speaking of stuff like the Celestial Sisters, Queen Novo, Rain Shine, or even King Aspen. Powerful, immortal mages.”

“And they’re back.” Raimund stated.

“That… is correct.” Derek opined. “Most likely they saw the opportunity of one planet without immortals to watch over it and decided it was better than staying on Equus. That would have been bad enough, but they brought stuff along.”

“The monsters?”

“They’re not behind the presence of monsters. Not directly at least.” The gargoyle brushed a hand through his russet mane. “Doctor Venture…” He turned towards Sidereal. “Are you by any chance familiar with the gang known as ‘The Four Horses’?”

“I am.” Radiant butted in instead of Sidereal, the Pegasus sitting by the Doctor’s side. “Dangerous bunch…”

“Quite.” Derek nodded before holding his hand out towards the folder. A faint green glow appeared around his forearm before four sheets of paper rose up in his telekinesis. “The Four Horses have gone undetected for a while now, and most believed they were in hiding. Their tactics, however, do match what’s happening around here.”

“How so?” Raimund asked.

“They’re… ‘monster breeders’, sort of. Their modus operandi revolves around destabilizing an area by ‘seeding’ monsters they’ve captured or bred in one of their facilities before swooping in with a commando team while everyone’s fixing stuff to grab what they want. The summoning circle design your pictures show does look like their own… albeit with the addition of the demonic sigils to it. That’s probably how they upgraded it for off-world travel.” Derek explained, calmly laying down each file on the table.

There were four sheets, each bearing a mugshot of the apparent leaders of the ‘gang’. A unicorn, an Earth pony, a Pegasus and a batpony.

“Mage, Might, Haze and Night.” Derek clicked his tongue. “Those are their callsigns if you were wondering. Nobody knows their actual names, and they weren’t born in Equestria either so no-pony has any official data on them. Those are the ponies behind the monster attacks… with a combined bounty of over twenty-five million Abyssinian marks and two hundred life sentences.”

“That dangerous uh…” Dilip frowned. “But monsters aren’t necessarily beasts… some we’ve met could talk. Like the chimera… or the siren.”

“Never seemed to stop them, at least for chimeras. All four bear Cutie Marks related to monster taming… but don’t think that doesn’t make them dangerous.” Derek warned. “The latest head count we had on their gang numbered them at over five hundred members, encompassing nearly all types of criminal activity and commando teams. Chances are… most of them crossed over to this planet.”

Raimund looked at the four mugshots of ponies grinning at the camera with a scowl, particularly at the unicorn. A white one-eyed stallion with a sadistic smirk on his muzzle. She shuddered.

“So your demons took an international gang under their wing to assist them… most likely because they’re still too weak to operate themselves after just escaping the influence of the immortals.” The German filly spoke, the last word rolling off her tongue with an almost sarcastic emphasis. “And their jig is deploying monsters to keep people busy while their goons do the stuff that actually matters.”

“There is more than just them.”

This time it was Armiger who spoke up, the orange cat was fiddling with a pocket watch in his paw. He clasped it shut before turning his gaze towards the Captains and their Officers behind them.

“Derek here has yet to say it, but investigations have led to the conclusion that two demons crossed over to your world. Siblings, if archives are to be believed, each with its own specific mark. The Four Horses are apparently tied to one of the two, the same one that’s believed to be behind the rise of King Sombra way back, you know, dark crystals…”

Radiant inhaled sharply at the mention of Sombra.

“... and its mark is also linked to the disappearance of others, beyond just the gang. But its sibling on the other paw… Derek, if you will?” The Abyssinian threw his bodyguard a pointed look.

With a swipe of the gargoyle’s hand, a couple more files rose above the stack to float midair, allowing all assembled to take a look at them.

“Seems like that one is more focused on gaining influence at sea. We got its mark tied to the disappearance of several prominent pirates, marine biologists, and even some sea monsters the Royal Coast Guard kept tabs on. Do take note that the pirates disappeared alongside their ships, so be on the lookout for vessels that don’t match this planet’s ahem… style. Airships included, mind.” Armiger told them. “As far as I know… one of the missing pirates is even a former Captain from the Storm King’s fleet.”

The files floating midair showed them the pictures of said Captains. One old sepia photo showed an extremely muscular grey hedgehog with white quills clad in a naval uniform, another more recent one showed a dour, heavily scarred parrot; and finally the last one…

There was a perfectly decent picture of a small kirin mare smiling at them. She had a dark grey coat of fur, a pale strip of scales running down her back, and a well-groomed aquamarine mane. Compared to the other two, she was actually on the cute side, not the grisly, menacing look that was expected of a pirate.

“You’re sure about that last one?” Dilip quirked an eyebrow at the picture before looking down at the name. “I mean… it’s hard to believe a mare like that called ‘Spring Gleam’ of all things could actually be dangerous.”

“Believe me, she is.” Elaena spoke up in her raspy voice. “That crazy puta is permanently stuck in ‘Nirik’ form, never seen a creature as bloodthirsty as her. I would know, cost me my first ship and half a crew.” She told them, making a show of scratching the scar on her throat.

“I’m sorry but… ‘Nirik’?” Dilip asked her.

“A specialty of kirins.” She rasped out. “Mira, these bastards, they’re normally the stoic, quiet type. But when you get a kirin riled up…” The parrot drummed her talons against the table. “They turn into what we call a nirik. Like a kirin… but black, on fire, and very intent on destroying everything around them. Worse than a raging minotaur. As far as I know, Spring Gleam has spent more time in her life as a nirik than as a kirin. And that…” The parrot’s claws tightened into a fist, a dark look sweeping across her features. “… is precisely what makes her irredeemable. Mental health down the drain, a complete psychopath.”

“So… one demon with a gang of monster breeders on land… another at sea with pirates. That doesn’t look good for us.” Dilip stated. “And that’s without accounting for the monsters. We’re not soldiers you know…” He sighed.

“The situation isn’t completely hopeless Captain.” Sidereal tried with an awkward smile. “After all, those files here pretty much say there isn’t that many of them. And that’s all of them trying to cover an entire planet.”

And yet they kept running into monsters.

The reveal on the origin of the monsters didn’t actually take that long. All in all they were done in about half an hour after that talk. Dilip had Roberto take the investigation files and ordered the Italian to scan and upload them in their database.

Yet another thing they could trade to the HPI, for intel or for parts, that they’d have to see. The spooks had been rather quiet as of late, probably because he had told Eko how long he thought they would stay in Copenhagen. He fully expected him to send them the delivery port for their prototypes once the works on the Rhine were finished. He didn’t really have any reason to contact them in the meantime, though the Indonesian had made a passing mention of how their R&D department had a set of experiments for them once they installed the lab on Rhine.

Hopefully, the prototypes, experiments, and considerable data they were accumulating would set them up comfortably in the realm of parts. The workshop they had built on Amandine might be able to manufacture a lot of stuff, but some things like advanced electronics and high-grade components remained out of their scope, even with the 3D printers.

As were some of the larger parts. Hollow propeller shafts like Amandine’s couldn’t just be made of any kind of steel, and they needed a complex system to connect to the propellers -which were no small things in their own right-.

Under such conditions, it was no surprise they’d have to rely on the HPI for advanced stuff like that. Factories that were able to produce that kind of parts were rather advanced, so the Diamond Dog very much doubted they would be able to find a colony able to manufacture the stuff anytime soon.

That the intel they had on colonies in Mexico told them they might be able to get a refinery under their banner was lucky enough to begin with. And even then, getting the installation into operational state might not be easy.

With those thoughts swirling around his head, Dilip quietly made his way back to his cabin, grabbing a couple files from his office on the way. Some more expedition projects, along with Artyom’s completed After-Action-Report regarding the siren incident.

The motions for heating up a fresh kettle were basically muscle memory for him at this point. He set it to heating in his cabin’s kitchenette before shuffling over to the window, files in hand. Out on the docks, he could see Rhine Forest and the workers finishing the container bay, as well as the new addition of Sirocco. The airship had her ramp lowered, and he could see the forms of Derek and Elaena working around her landing gear, making sure she would stay secured to the ground if the wind picked up.

Raimund was standing by the ramp, the filly apparently discussing something with the Abyssinian that had chartered Sirocco.

The three newcomers made for a mismatched group. The parrot was pretty much what he would have expected from a Captain on a world like Equus, but the presence of an eccentric noble like Armiger was new.

Why did he think the cat was eccentric? His choice of a bodyguard. That anyone would think a young awkward mage like Derek was a good choice was… perplexing to say the least. Not that he was incompetent: his behavior and tone when they moved on to the demons proved he could be confident.

But not confident enough for what could be expected from a bodyguard. That gargoyle had something hidden up his sleeves.

What it was, the Diamond Dog very much wanted to find out.

A whistle from his kettle called him away from the door. Right, time to get to work on that paperwork about… prototypes for the oil reconditioning equipment and a request to create radio relays to extend their broadcast coverage.

Boris slowly started coming to, his mind sluggish from all the painkillers they had pumped into his bloodstream.

He opened his eyes with a groan, only to be blinded by the bright lighting and quickly close them once more. What little he had seen was enough to tell him he had indeed been shot and moved to an infirmary. Some beeping off to his side, as well as the sharp smell of disinfectant pretty much confirmed his assumption.

After waiting a minute, he eventually opened his eyes again to discover the myriad of tubes and cables they had stuck into him. No surprise really… but at least they didn’t intubate him.

Boris was lying on his back in a bed, naked and only covered by a thin white sheet. The position sure didn’t feel comfortable with his wings, but seeing the state of his chest it was probably for the better. A thick layer of bandages was wrapped over the feathers on the goshawk griffon’s chest, with a couple catheters slipping beneath them.

One of his arms had also been completely immobilized by bandages, the soft throbbing in his shoulder leaving him little doubt as to why.

His memory flashed back to the moment when he had looked at the growing red spot on his chest. Eh, at least she had only shot him once, he was lucky.

Looking around, Boris quickly found out he was inside Rhine’s infirmary. No mistake there, Amandine may be a nice ship but she didn’t benefit from having a clinic-sized med bay like the barge carrier. Using his uninjured claw, the griffon reached for the call button above his bed.

Not a minute later, Marta rolled into view on her wheelchair. The Pole-turned-hedgehog flashed him a sympathetic look and rolled closer to his bed. Behind her he saw a red and blue unicorn mare shuffle out of the clinic with a box of painkillers held in her telekinesis, the Cadet barely looking at him before leaving.

“Awake now?” She asked him in her heavily accented English.

“Unfortunately…” Boris growled out in Russian. “Hurts like Hell.” He added, switching to English.

“No shit.” The hedgehog rolled her eyes, the electric blue of her sclera somewhat unnerving to the Russian. “The bullet went all the way through; I’d be surprised if you felt good.” She explained while taking a look at his parameters.

“How long was I out?”

“Two days.” Marta told him. “You’re lucky griffons have two hearts, otherwise you might have gone into cardiac arrest you know.”

“That close uh?” Boris brushed a talon over his bandages. “Say… I was wondering.”

“Anton?”

“Yeah. How did that end?”

“Ranger Pony sedated her after you fell unconscious. We had her in custody for a day, but since she was mind-controlled, there was no point in detaining her.” Marta scowled. “Frankly I think we should lock her up.”

Boris tore his gaze away from his bandaged chest, eyes focusing on the wheelchair-bound hedgehog by his bedside.

“And I don’t.” He countered. “You ever watch any science-fiction? ‘cause I do, and I’ve seen the mind control thingy play itself often enough to know it’s not her fault.”

“She shot you, you dumb gopnik!”

“For the second time: she was mind-controlled.” Boris repeated in a louder tone, only to immediately regret rising his voice when his injuries reminded him exactly why he was inside Rhine’s clinic. “No matter which version of mind-control she was under, she wasn’t at the helm when her body pulled the trigger.” He added in a softer tone, his uninjured claw clutching at his chest wound.

Marta’s eyes quickly flicked towards Boris’ heart monitor, if only to ensure her patient wasn’t suddenly dying before her eyes. The anthropomorphic hedgehog’s narrow snout twitched before she shook her head, Boris watching the long white quills she had on the back of her head shake at the motion.

“Fine, be that way. Between you and me, we both know exactly why you’re not holding her guilty for that.” She smirked at him.

“Do I, now?” The griffon clicked his beak.

“Don’t play dumb.” Marta snorted with a roll of her eyes.

“I’m not. By all means, tell me, why am I not holding her guilty?” He asked her, a gleam appearing in the goshawk griffon’s eyes.

“Come on!” She pointed an accusatory digit at him. “You, male griffon. Her, female, half snow leopard anyone with a sense of taste would find cute-“

“I am cute?” A new voice resounded behind Marta’s back.

Anton came into view just as she walked past the curtain separating Boris’ bed from the rest. The peregrine falcon/snow leopard griffon was clad in her modified track suit, and she was now giving Marta a curious look.

“Wha- nevermind actually. I was just rambling. What are you here for? Doc’s still busy giving Zinoviya lessons on Amandine, your own visit is only due in an hour.”

“Actually I decided to come when I was told a certain someone had woken up.” The hen said, eyeing Boris. “Would you mind if I uh… had a word?”

Marta smirked in her chair, giving Boris a mirthful gaze before shrugging and rolling her wheelchair back towards the clinic’s office.

“Just don’t be too long, he’s still recovering.” She called out over her shoulder before returning to her paperwork.

She didn’t need to inspect Boris’ wounds herself anyway; Doctor Delacroix would do that herself when she got back. And frankly it was for the better, the polish nurse sort of was at a loss when it came to evaluating the progress on his wounds.

Effective as they were, Equestrian health potions were still rather new and she had yet to finish reading through the nursing manual they had been given. Turns out, they did need to take some precautions with health potions, and she wasn’t too familiar with all the possible outcomes.

Back by Boris’ bed, Anton hawkwardly shifted her weight from one side to another. Her wings fluttered underneath her track suit before she lifted her eyes up to look at him. Underneath her feathers, the Russian could see hints of small scars around her eyes, albeit subtly hidden by some of the violet stripes she had adorning her plumage. He caught the sorrow in her yellow-orange eyes.

“I… I wanted to say thank you.” She muttered in Ukrainian. “For what you did. I’m… I’m sorry this ended up with you injured like this.”

Boris leaned back into his pillow, slowly adjusting his wings so he’d not lie directly on them.

“So you do remember what happened…” He sighed, easily switching to Ukrainian.

Might as well, at least that’d ensure Marta wouldn’t be eavesdropping on them.

“Did you tell anyone?” He asked her.

“No… figured it was rather personal…” She said, head held low.

“It is.” The male griffon said in an icy tone. “Nobody in the fleet besides you actually knows I can speak Ukrainian.”

“Not even Artyom?”

“Artyom?” Boris shuckled. “To him I’m just your regular gopnik shithead. Old fool has no idea.”

“That’s uh…” She deflated a bit. “Great I guess? I don’t know why you’d want to keep that hidden. Anyway… I wanted to offer you my thanks. Without you I might still be enthralled right now. I… I owe you my life.”

“Don’t you think you’re exaggerating?” He gave her a flat look.

“No!” She protested loudly. “It’s you that gave me something to latch on. I was a prisoner in my own head; I was forced to watch as my body refused to respond to my orders…” She gave a shudder that reverberated all the way through her fluffy tail. “It’s not something you want to be subjected to, ever. Even after Gust sedated me I was still fighting inside, even after the siren was killed too if I put the pieces together correctly.” She raised her head, steeling her nerves to look him straight in the eyes. “And it’s you that gave me what I needed to fight back. I’m indebted to you.”

Boris just quirked an eyebrow at her.

“Big words right there.” He drawled.

“Maybe.” She conceded. “Doesn’t change my meaning. I want to do right by you. It may not have been me at the helm, but it’s my talons that carried out the deed. So uh… I asked Doc Delacroix earlier and…” She rubbed a claw against the back of her neck. “She said if I was volunteering to be your caretaker you could leave the clinic earlier.”

“My caretaker?”

“Well, she did say you could leave earlier, not that you wouldn’t be bedridden.” She shrugged. “With a wound like yours even if you wanted to you wouldn’t be able to walk around. Doc said I’d need to help you with the menial stuff, watch your wounds, change your bandages…” She looked up towards the ceiling as she explained. “So uh… my offer?”

A small smile creased the corners of Boris’ beak.

“Hold out your claw.”

“I’m sorry?”

“I said ‘hold out your claw’, ‘cause we got ourselves a deal. Ain’t that hard now is it?” The Russian told her as he extended his uninjured claw towards her.

Frankly the attitude was more for show because even lifting his good claw was enough to send lances of searing pain through his injured shoulder on the other side. She didn’t need to know that though.

Anton eyed the proffered limb for a second before firmly shaking his claw.

“Alright, deal.”

Elsewhere on the docks, Alejandro was walking up to Sirocco. The airship had her ramp lowered, with Derek standing watch beside it. The Spanish parrot managed to sneak a peek inside her crate-filled cargo hold before the gargoyle standing watch interrupted his observations with a polite cough.

“How may I be of assistance, sir?” Derek asked, not sure of the parrot’s rank, though the golden trim on his coveralls’ shoulders was enough to tell him he was pretty high-ranked.

“Just out on a walk away from the paperwork. Felt like taking a closer look at this here ship.” The Spaniard answered with a polite smile as he looked up at the two looming balloons above them. “Impressive ship she is, we don’t use airships much on this planet.” He commented before returning his gaze to the gargoyle by the ramp. “Courtesies aside, Doctor Venture was wondering if your group was planning to give a briefing on some of the races the Equestrian are… less familiar with, simply put.”

“A briefing?”

“Why yes, a briefing.” Alejandro answered matter-of-factly. “You did mention upon arriving that you had documentation available. Are you going to present the information yourself or should the ponies come and pick up the books so they can arrange it themselves? That’s what Sidereal was asking. We may have learned a lot on ponies, griffons and hippogriffs but…” He shrugged. “No clue on the rest. Hell, I don’t even know the proper name for what I turned into, much less if there’s anything I should pay attention to.”

“Parrots, we usually go by parrots.” A raspy voice joined their conversation just as Elaena emerged out of the depths of Sirocco’s cargo hold.

She had now shed her duffle coat in favor of a lighter sleeveless pilot shirt better suited for the summer weather. Her emerald crest of feathers was held behind her head by a red bandana with her ship’s name embroidered on the side.

As for why she needed the lighter clothing, the subtle sheen of perspiration on her plumage was enough to tell Alejandro the female parrot had been moving crates around her cargo hold. Not that he disliked the more revealing nature of her apparel. Not. At. All.

“Just parrots?” He quirked his head, the hyacinth macaw’s crest of feathers extending halfway up in bemusement.

“We’re practical folks.” She crossed her arms, leaning against a stack of crates. “Diamond Dogs, Abyssinians, we don’t need fancy names like those. Just don’t let anyone call you a harpy.” She concluded with a small sneer on her beak. “That’s a slur if you were wondering.”

“Figured that the moment it left your beak.” Alejandro smiled. “Anything I should know?”

Elaena held up a talon in the universal ‘wait a sec’ motion before once more disappearing out of sight in the cargo hold. Alejandro shared a side glance with Derek as they heard her start rummaging inside before she came back out with a green canvas-covered book with the picture of a macaw parrot on it.

Oddly enough, the macaw depicted on the cover had her wings extended in place of regular arms like every parrot he had seen since the Event, Elaena included.

“Basic biology and magical features in our species. Also includes a bit of history if that interests you. It’s not in Equestrian though, came from Ornithia, my own collection…” She rasped out, walking down the ramp to pass the book to Alejandro.

The hyacinth macaw accepted the book with a soft ‘gracias’, noting in passing with the slightest hint of annoyance how much taller Elaena was compared to him. Sure, male parrots had much more bulk to their frame than the females, but the height difference still felt genuinely weird to the former human.

Then he eyed the foreword on the cover.

He did a double-take.

“Excuse me, but what language is it written in?” He asked in an almost forlorn voice, his ‘thumb’ claw softly brushing over words that hit a place he thought doomed to disappear.

“Standard Ornithian, if a bit old-fashioned. Why?”

Alejandro frowned a second before opening the book to a random page and proceeding to read a few lines. The grammar and syntax weren’t identical but the language sure was similar.

To Galician, his actual mother tongue. Galego…

See, many people were unaware there were more languages in Spain than just plain Spanish –which was, actually, Castilian Spanish-. In fact he was pretty sure even Dilip didn’t know about it, though he couldn’t blame the Indian since he was himself pretty unaware of most intricacies with Hindi, aside from the fact the Mumbai-born Captain could also speak Marathi.

Being from Galicia, his parents had been very insistent that he be raised with Galego as his mother tongue, something he had sworn himself to never forget when he moved on and away from his birth region. Even after years of speaking Castilian daily and having people treat him as if it was his mother tongue, the language still occupied a fond place in the Chief Officer’s heart. He even had a couple hardback books in Galician inside his cabin.

Far too often he had met Spanish speakers who confused the tones he put in his Castilian Spanish and call him boorish, not recognizing telltale hints of Galician grammar that sometimes seeped through. But now…

He followed the lines on the page with one talon. That language… save for a few articles it was by and large identical to Galician. His breath caught in his throat.

“You alright there?” Elaena asked, spurring the Chief Officer to finally tear his gaze away from the book held in his claws.

“Tell me, does this language sound familiar to you?” He asked the other parrot, quickly switching to Galician.

Elaena recoiled slightly, a bemused look on her features.

“Where did you learn Ornithian?”

“Ornithian uh…”The word rolled off his tongue. “On this planet we call this language ‘Galician’. It’s my mother tongue but… very few people actually speak it. It’s mostly confined to a small section of the Iberian Peninsula.”

“Really now? That’s surprising. See, we parrots are actually very spread out as a race, few of us still live in Ornithia so we don’t even have that many native speakers left either.” The parrot deplored. “To discover there are other speakers, even if it’s just a few on another planet, well… that’s a relief. I wasn’t born in Ornithia you know?”

“Really?”

“Nah. Me and my sister, we hatched in Klugetown. A remote trade post. I didn’t see the homeland until I was twenty, and I’m the only one in my family who did.”

And it was rather disheartening that she was the only one. Not even her sister -who was now considered a rather prominent example of a parrot in Equestria- had ever set foot there. Elaena was one of a dwindling population of Ornithian speakers on Equus, all the others never seeing the appeal in learning the tongue of a homeland they never saw nor wanted to see.

Ornithia wasn’t always like that. A shadow of the country it once was. Long before she was hatched, the country had been a well-off land, lush and full of riches.

Sitting down on the edge of Sirocco’s ramp, Eleana beckoned for Alejandro to join her and listen to the tale of her homeland. Out of the corner of her eyes, she also spotted Derek light up a spark in his fingers before applying it to his ears.

A translation spell.

Let the gargoyle listen to it if he wanted, that tale was no secret, though few liked to hear it.

Ornithia was, in fact, a very large volcanic island situated almost on top of Equus’ equator, and was also regarded as a meteorological and geological anomaly.

The main island was shaped like an ellipse, with the snow-capped silhouettes of two volcanoes -Loro and Arara- dominating the landscape with their snow-capped calderas. The particularity with the main island was that the ground didn’t simply go down from the top of the volcanoes to the black sand of the beaches. It actually made several ‘trenches’ in concentric circles around the volcanoes, each seasonally collecting water and spawning a marshy terrain that allowed a very lush rainforest to grow despite the slopes. The island’s location along an important ley line only accentuated the fact, leading to trees so large you could simply carve a three-master out of them if you wanted to.

Elaena fondly told Alejandro about her last visit to the island and about the wealth of rare magical plants and fruits that grew in the jungles of the main island, their magically-charged nature leading to the bioluminescent biome that grew in the darkest, lowest parts of the rainforest, incidentally the most dangerous as well because of the predators that dwelled there, some fierce enough to give Equestria’s famous breed of manticore a run for its money.

Yet the magic of Ornithia didn’t stop there. Elaena’s people had to be crafty to thrive on the island. They had found ways to establish settlements in the upper reaches of the canopy, out of range of the predators and in reach of the juiciest fruits. Their life aloft was what lead them to inventing the first airships, as well as being the reason behind Ornithia’s signature network of suspended roadways that criss-crossed through the branches all over the island.

The only place where you’d find something built on the ground on the main island would be the docks along the beaches. Considering parrots’ preference towards airships, there weren’t even that many of them. Not that you could have built much on the ground even if you wanted to: the marshy terrain caused by the concentric trenches basically ensured the lower parts of the jungle were entirely made out of a maze of a mangrove.

And there was even more to Ornithia than the main island. All around it was an archipelago of small islands, some barely more than a strip of sand with a palm tree. And there were thousands of them all around the main island, each profiting from favorable seas and warm waters. The reason behind those being the much larger atoll that protected Ornithia.

“An atoll?” Alejandro quirked his head.

“Yeah. A Parede da Obsidiana. It circles around the entire archipelago and shelters it from the very rough seas around it. Its obsidian cliffs, when you look at them in the evening sun, they look like jagged teeth peeking over the horizon, with the raging seas behind them. Frankly with a sight like that it’s a miracle my ancestors ever decided to fly over them and set out to explore the world.”

“Wait, I get it all. The island and surrounding archipelago are basically paradise. So why did people leave?”

“Loro exploded.” Elaena whispered somberly. “It’s been seventy-three years now. Princess Luna even says she saw the eruption from space. In a matter of second, a pyroclastic flow blasted through and destroyed most of the inner circles on the main island. Tens of thousands were killed in a matter of minutes. And what happened next… a Néboa da Morte.”

The ash cloud.

Famine. Ash poisoning. Lung illnesses. The parrots’ lifestyle in the upper reaches of the canopy made it even worse. The fruits they relied on for food could no longer grow because of the ash covering the leaves and darkening the skies. Their young and elders started dying in droves, choking on the ash-laden air that covered the entire archipelago in a dim haze.

By then airship travel was nothing new, so it was no wonder that most parrots fled the country, particularly considering it took no less than three years for the haze to fade away. Only the hardiest and most stubborn of parrots remained after the fact.

According to statistics, the cataclysm killed a fifth of the entire archipelago’s population, the vast majority of them after the initial eruption. Among the survivors, two thirds fled the country, never to return to a land now associated with death, ash and fire.

The land healed. Trees grew to fill the void left behind in the inner circles, crops sprouted anew in the upper reaches of the canopy. Sure, there were still strips of charred land devoid of trees, but the area they occupied was dwindling as years went by.

But people? Memories last a while, and Loro had left a nasty scar in the heart of its people.

Most of those who returned only ever did for a while. To pay respects by one of the many memorials that dotted Ornithia’s black shores. Nothing more. They left quickly after that, once they made sure to spit in the volcano’s general direction. It had left such a nasty mark in parrot history it had been removed from their flag, its name now associated with bad omens and only spoken in hushed tones.

Other races later came to fill the void left by the parrots. The boiling lava of Arara’s caldera suited a dragon colony just fine.

Hippogriffs were rather fond of the fair seas inside the atoll, managing to occupy spots nobody else wanted, be it as hippogriffs by nesting on the jagged cliffs of the outer atoll or as seaponies in one of the many reefs of the archipelago.

But of all those parrots that fled the country, only less than three percent ever came back to the land of their ancestors.

“That’s terrible Elaena…”

“It is. But want to know what’s worse? Having most of your species and family decide it’s better to run away from your past and forget about it.” Elaena closed her eyes and breathed out softly, one claw digging under her shirt to lift out a small necklace.

It was just a simple string with an obsidian pendant attached to it. No frills at all, the stone wasn’t even carved, still in a jagged state as if it had just been ripped out of a cliff. She ran a digit over its sharp edge, the motion drawing a drop of blood.

“It’s not my place to judge. I wasn’t there.” Alejandro said, slowly standing up. “Maybe they have their reasons, a cataclysm like that is no small thing. God knows my birth region didn’t have problems of its own with youngsters –me included- leaving the region to seek out work and knowledge elsewhere. Nothing quite on your scale however I’m afraid.” He stopped to stare at the parrot biology book he still held in his claw before offering Elaena his other claw. “So, shall we get back to that first topic?”

The female parrot gladly accepted the proffered claw, Alejandro effortlessly hoisting her up on her feet before offering her a comforting pat on the shoulder. Going by her face, it wasn’t easy for her to retell her people’s story.

Elaena thanked him with a small smile before motioning for him to follow after her.

“So you don’t know anything about what parrots can do?”

“’fraid I don’t.” He shrugged. “This body feels faster than a human’s, at the cost of some strength but that’s about it.” He mused. “We don’t seem to need to preen quite as much as griffons or hippogriffs, and we got one guy-turned-gal that figured we’re double-jointed. How much more complicated can it get?”

“Forgot about magic.” Derek commented, the gargoyle having decided it was better for him to just follow them, his ears flickering intermittently with the soft glow of his translation spell.

“What? Now we can do magic like the unicorns?”

“Not in that sense, no.” Elaena corrected him just as she came to a halt near a portion of free quay. “But we do have some interesting abilities.”

“What for?”

“Mobility.” The other parrot winked at him before jumping over the edge of the quay.

Alejandro let out a surprised yelp before rushing over, fully expecting to see a swimming parrot or something.

What he didn’t expect was to see her standing there confidently, with her claws on her hips and a grin on her beak. Water was lapping at her bare ankles, but she wasn’t sinking. She was just… there, standing on top of several meters of water as if it were a solid surface.

Alejandro’s lower mandible practically hit the floor.

“Surprised much?” Derek chuckled.

Amandine’s Chief Officer just stuttered in confusion.

“There you go, we can walk on water. See, worldwide, a parrot’s magic is considered as geared towards mobility. We can almost match Earth Ponies and centaurs in a run, we give Abyssinians a run for their money when it comes to jumping, walk on water to at least challenge the seaponies and…” She made a dramatic pause. “… It gets better.”

“Better? Seems impressive enough already!”

“Really now? Sit down then, you might need it.” Elaena chuckled, the rasp in her voice causing the chuckle to take on an unpleasant whistling noise. “Let’s try something: traditional Ornithian attire always keeps the arms bare or lightly covered. Bracelets and tight sleeves are good, but nothing loose like your coveralls. Why do you think we do that?”

“To style on other races with our dashing looks?”

Elaena laughed.

“That too, but most go naked and don’t make it much of a challenge.” She shook her head, throat still rumbling in amusement. “No, listen here friend: we can fly.”

“Horseshit.” Alejandro snorted before extending out an arm. “That here, that’s an arm, not a wing. And we don’t have wings on our back like dragons or gargoyles either.”

Sirocco’s Captain squinted at him, a small smile creasing the corners of her beak. She extended her arms out.

“Observe!”

And in a flourish accompanied by a white gleam, her arms turned into a pair of great white wings, with green primaries akin to those she had on her crest and tail. With a heave, she launched herself up in the air before coming back down on the quay in a glide, her wings carrying her weight through the air with little to no apparent trouble.

She came to a rest a few meters in front of Alejandro and Derek, the gargoyle not the least bit surprised by the action, unlike the Spaniard by his side. Elaena crossed her arms in front of her chest, the long primaries forming a cloak of sorts around her statuesque frame.

“I hereby present you the Lost Art of Ornithia. Legend has it magic gifted our feral ancestors with arms to civilize them, grounding them in the process. With proper training, we can revert our arms to their primal state and ascend once more.”

“Just… how?!”

“By the same logic hippogriffs can turn back and forth between land and sea shape.” She explained, opening up her wings slightly to reveal her shirt underneath. There was her obsidian pendant, now emitting a subtle white glow. “We use artifacts. This obsidian is more than just a memorial to the cataclysm. We have always been able to take a shard from Loro or Arara to touch the skies. Nowadays… the diaspora and taboo about the volcanoes has rendered it a lost art. Only a select few on Ornithia still practice it, I myself had to journey up the slopes of the volcano to get my own shard.”

“Ah I see.” The pieces clicked together for Derek. “If the hippogriffs on this planet can turn into seaponies without their pearl shards, there is no reason the parrots couldn’t get their wings either.”

“You genuinely think I can do… that?” Alej’ gestured towards her folded wings.

“No reason you couldn’t. Now… it’s probably going to be harder since I can’t toss you in the water and expect you to come back up with a pair of wings, but I suspect with a bit of elbow grease it can be done…”

She paused a second and proceeded to use one of her feet’s claws to grab a cigarillo from a pouch on her belt, accidentally demonstrating how parrots could still retain a measure of dexterity even in winged form.

Gotta thank the prehensile claws and double-jointed limbs for that.

“… Now I gotta admit, this shape does have its limit. We are nowhere near actual winged species when it comes to performance in the air, so you shouldn’t expect to keep up with a griffon. This is more geared towards surviving long falls, accessing certain areas and, on Ornithia at least, easily make your way through the canopy. Even a trained flyer like myself can only last a couple minutes in the air before I exhaust myself… and as a word of warning: winged species can glide when they’re exhausted. You’re using your magic to maintain that form so when you exhaust yourself…”

“No more wings.” Alej’ completed.

“Damn right. Careful with that trick then. No cloudwalk either.”

“Well alright.” Alejandro replied, gingerly looking at his arm and wondering what it would look like if Elaena’s guess on the winged form was correct. “When do we start training?”

“Later.” Elaena stated, finally dispelling her winged form. “I gotta review the cargo inventory and your visit reminded me I need to pass the documents we have to Doctor Venture’s team.”

“Don’t forget the alchemical items.” Derek pointed out.

“Alchemi-what now?” Alejandro asked.

“Alchemical. You humans don’t appear to have potions in the same sense we do on Equus, so Doc Venture introduced a request for alchemical manuals, some basic gear and components, to pass you the skill set. She said if there was one group that could make it work, it would be yours.”

“Wait so now you’re telling me you’re gonna teach us how to make potions?”

“To a certain extent. We got a crate of samples and ingredients, as well as a couple more worth of seeds for useful magical plants and herbs. All the stuff you’d need to make healing potions, among other things.”

Considering one of the initial plans was to set up a lab and hydroponics on Rhine, this wasn’t too much of a stretch. Hell, Rahul had even come forward with a proposal for a greenhouse container to be mounted on Amandine’s deck once he caught word of the hydroponics, though his idea was more for food.

Now they wouldn’t even need to reverse-engineer the potions.

“Right, potions coming soon. Back to our training, where were we?” He asked Elaena.

“Come back to Sirocco this evening, we’ll see to get you those wings.”

“Alone?” He smiled.

Elaena grinned back before brushing past him, one claw caressing his shoulder.

“Of course. Otherwise it would be boring, wouldn’t it?” She whispered softly in his ear, which only served to make the hyacinth macaw’s crest rise.

Needless to say, Derek hadn’t heard that last sentence.

Way beyond Copenhagen and the woes of Amandine’s crew, one small trawler was seeking refuge from a storm.

Dornada was an Argentinean-flagged purse seiner. She had been sailing south of Cape Horn at the time of the Event, intent on filling her holds before heading back to port much further north. At forty meters in length, she wasn’t particularly big, though large enough to confront the open seas as long as her skipper wasn’t dead at the helm.

She was no brand new vessel either, and even though Captain Alvarez made sure she was well-maintained, rust still poked through the blue paint and the bearings of her fishing gear were caked in old grease.

So much you can do in the way of maintenance with a crew of five.

Alvarez was old, hard as it was to admit. He was slowly but surely nearing his seventies, he knew he shouldn’t be out in the middle of the Atlantic at his age but… he was left with little choice. Payments were due, and his only son had been injured in an accident on the docks one week earlier. It had fallen to him to take the ship and bring the fish home, otherwise…

As he said, payments were due. Dornadawas his girl, he knew how to make her work, and he had taken a few younger folks along to help him with the newer stuff his son had fitted her with. Like the comms station.

Then the Event struck.

One moment they were sailing through quiet seas headed for a fishing spot and… next thing he knew he was wrestling with the helm as they were surprised by a storm that spawned on top of them. He lost one good sailor in the first minute of their reappearance, Paco being swept away by the first wave that hit them on their beam. He never saw it coming. And they were lucky the wave didn’t capsize the ship outright.

To make things worse, he had somehow turned into some kind of parrot. Just like another on the crew, the other two had become weird cats.

No time to dwell on that however. For hours he was forced to remain at the helm and keep the waves from swallowing them all. No matter which course he steered, that damned storm just seemed to follow them.

Dornadawas far too old for that kind of struggle; he could hear her engines sputter under the strain. From time to time, the newly made parrot could have sworn he saw hints of a ghostly dirigible up in the sky each time a bolt of lightning lit it up.

At first they tried to head back to their homeport despite the storm.

Half an hour of fighting against the weather lead to the loss of the ship’s antennas, as well as having most of the fishing gear ripped right off the deck. One of the cables must have gotten stuck in a propeller by that point because it was at that point they lost thrust on starboard.

Espinoza, his Chief Mate –now a black cat-, convinced him to switch plans. Going with the way the storm was pushing them, maybe they could limp to the Beagle Channel and head to Ushuaia for repairs. The channel should be better sheltered from the storm. They’d never make it home on one propeller. Not with that weather.

It worked better. Marginally. They still wound up with one casualty. Espinoza broke his leg just as he was climbing down the ladder between the bridge and the chart room. Alvarez gritted his beak when he heard the sickening cracking of bone against steel followed by a pained yowl, but he didn’t leave the helm. He couldn’t. The grey cat was brought to his bed with a splint by the two remaining sailors where they secured him so he wouldn’t be jostled too much whenever a wave sent the damaged ship lurching.

Eventually, Dornadamade it to port.

Only to be disappointed by what they found.

As night came, they pulled into the approaches to Ushuaia, fully expecting to see moored cruise ships, lit streets and tourists running back to their hotels to escape the storm. No dice. They were lucky to even see the faint light of the failing buoys. The town was… deserted.

No cars. No ships. Not a single passerby in the streets. All dark, with only the icy rain draping a cold curtain over the city and masking the mountains in the distance. In fact, Alvarez was pretty sure that even if the storm hadn’t torn away their antennas the radio would still have been silent.

“What in the blazes happened there?” He muttered under his breath just as his sailors were tying the mooring lines to a jetty.

Ushuaia was supposed to be a bustling port, filled with vaguely adventurous tourists. That right there… it looked like everyone had just up and left.

Through the rain, he spotted the two yellow silhouettes of his sailors’ parkas suddenly disappear. Quickly, he rushed over to the window and pressed his beak against the window, hoping to spot them despite Dornada’s weak deck lights. He grabbed a walkie-talkie, calling out to them.

No response.

A lightning bolt hitting the side of the nearby mountains briefly lit up the sky. There! Next to a mooring bit, a flicker of yellow.

Alvarez grabbed a flashlight from under his seat and resolved to go after them. What the hell were they thinking, running off in the night like that? In the middle of a storm to boot, and they had a casualty on board. He spared a minute to drop off a walkie-talkie by Espinoza so his Chief Mate could call him if necessary before heading out in the night.

Fat drops of water pelted his parka the moment he stepped out, his own flashlight almost blinding him when the light reflected off the raindrops. A chill ran down the parrot’s spine, the rain was quick to rob him of what little warmth he had.

Ushuaia was as close a port you’d find to the South Pole after all.

With a grumble, the old Argentinean pushed on through the rain and hoisted himself up on the jetty. Those two couldn’t be that far…

He quickly found the mooring bit and knelt down.

There was an abandoned parka, with his ship’s name on the back. He went to grab it, only to discover the pool of goop and blood it was lying in.

“Que diablos…”

Espinoza’s panicked voice came over the radio, garbled, unintelligible. Before he even had time to tune up the frequency and ask him what was wrong, a blood-curling scream pierced the air, the sound echoed by his walkie-talkie.

Alvarez turned away from the bloody parka and moved to run back to the ship, only to bump into a large black silhouette. He tumbled down on his rear, still not familiar with the avian body he had only had a couple hours to familiarize himself with so far.

“So pitiful…” A rough voice chuckled in English, though the chuckle was more of a disembodied gargling noise.

Another lightning bolt hit, allowing the parrot a look at the silhouette.

There was a… creature. Some might have called it a hedgehog in another time, but it was now far too disfigured to even call it that. Rippling muscles bulged underneath a tattered navy coat, the ranks on the shoulders ripped away a long time ago. The creature’s coat of fur and quills was poorly maintained, barren in places which allowed Alvarez to look at the sickly skin underneath and the dark goopy tendrils that seemed to run under its skin. Two such tendrils extended out of its back, extra limbs…

That bore the bodies of his missing sailors impaled on them.

The fisherman’s gaze flicked to the head of the creature. Goop dripping from a half-open muzzle that let out a gargling laugh as it starred him down through vacant eyes.

And behind the hedgehog, a ghostly dirigible hung in the sky.

With a ripping noise, another tendril emerged out of the hedgehog’s back before impaling Alvarez right in his heart. Soon, the Argentinean joined his two sailors in hanging on the creature’s back.

Minutes later, the dirigible left with three new bodies to join its crew and a new wreck half-submerged in Ushuaia’s port, its injured Chief Mate still trapped inside. Injured bodies made for poor thralls…

Author's Note

Little reminder I put one BBEG off Cape Horn and the other on top of Mt Fuji, lest we forget. Dornada couldn't have picked a worse place to reappear. Considering there are two of them Demons, anyone who's already read canon PaP probably figured out their names already.

Hint: Homer's Odyssey, 'nuf said.

Hope you liked Ornithia's tale. Canon MLP (comics included) doesn't really tell much about it except for its name and the fact parrots come from there. I took it as an opportunity to come up with something.

Expect the same for races like gargoyles, centaurs and hedgehogs (a.k.a. Storm Creatures). Hopefully season 9 won't invalidate it all.

Prologue : West Hinder

The twenty-third of May 2015 marked the end of humanity as we know it and the beginning of what is now called the post-Event era in the western world (Disappearance as it is called in East Asia). What followed immediately after the Disappearance is a 100-year period which local historians have chosen to name the “scavenging century” in which the people who were the earliest to reappear tasked themselves with rebuilding civilization out of the bones of humanity. This period is usually considered of importance because of how it is seen as the time period during which most of the new nations formed themselves and established their power base, despite this also being the time period during which the world was the least populated by a wide margin. Estimations rate the global population anywhere from a measly 20.000 to 100.000 (all species considered, without expeditionary forces) by the end of June 2015.

This production intends to relate the events of the Disappearance and the creation of the World Seafarer Union, which is often considered the bonding agent of early post-Disappearance civilization and by far the group with the most capabilities in this day and age (save for the HPI, obviously). The reader should however be advised that the WSU shares strong ties with said HPI, often carrying out missions in their name and keeping a continuous cooperation in the fields of intelligence, high tech trade and data recovery activities. Said cooperation hasn’t always be looked upon kindly by populations which do not harbor a lot of former humans.

The unenlightened reader will be happy to learn that even now, 500 years after the cataclysm, we can still trace most of our international groups and maritime organisations back to the efforts of the WSU. A lot of it can even be thanked to precursor groups back before the Disappearance, responsible for building and setting up much of the infrastructure used by the WSU. Praise the IMO.

An extract from Griffon historian Fleetwing’s Impact of the Event on the Maritime Industry, Imperial University of Beijing, 512AE (master thesis, controversial, translated from Mandarin).

North Sea, 23rd May 2015, anchoring station « West Hinder ».

It was almost a moonless night out on the North Sea, not that anyone would have noticed with the large cloud cover looming above the sea. A light drizzle was falling, but despite that the weather was relatively quiet. If previsions were to be trusted, that weather would keep going for the rest of the week.

Saying today had been a busy day would have been an utter lie for the mismatched crew of M/V Amandine but it wasn’t something any of them felt like complaining about. For the past month and a half, they had been busily sailing their fairly sized car carrier all over the North Sea, dropping off trucks and cars here and there along the shorelines. Now, they were at long last free to enjoy a couple quiet days at anchor in front of the port of Zeebrugge before the beginning of their next assignment. All inspections were done, all publications updated dutifully and the paintwork couldn’t be in a more pristine state.

The ship was a white and grey roll-on/roll-off vessel with a large superstructure at the back, a semi-protected deck onto which they usually loaded trucks and trailers, and a pair of ramps on either sides of the vessel to go with the bigger stern ramp. She had a bright yellow stripe running around the surface of the superstructure, along with the logo of the ship's owner painted on her single yellow funnel, on the port side of the superstructure. The ship, being unloaded except for a sparse amount of ballast and her fuel reserves, had quite a large freeboard. Furthermore, not being designed to carry passengers meant that she had a tendency to roll that would make most people queasy. The bridge's clock showed midnight and all her deck lights were on. A lone crewman was smoking on the main deck, but most his shipmates had already regained their cabins for the night.

As usual since he had begun working on that ship, Third Officer Vadim was taking charge of the first watch, which, considering they were lying at anchor, was nothing but an excruciatingly boring affair. After wishing a good night's rest to his colleague and friend, Micha, a Pole and Amandine’s Second Officer, the 26-year old Ukrainian grabbed himself a large mug of coffee and set about double checking the folder in which they kept all of the ship’s pre-planned routes. Not really a necessary process, but the Chief Officer was always adamant about fine tuning and optimizing their routes, or adding little details and subtleties that made their voyages easier. After all, anything you don't have to do later on is time you've gained to catch up on sleep, and oh boy was that in short supply in the industry.

Coffee thankfully wasn't, Vadim thought to himself as he downed his first mug and poured himself a refill. He was exhausted, having barely managed to sneak in six hours of sleep in the last three days. Still, job's gotta be done and slacking off is a deathwish at sea.

This state of affairs kept on for about an hour of leafing through the folder and giving periodic looks at the instrument panels before fatigue began to set in for the young man. Grumbling, he filled in the first part of the logbook for the night and went to the back of the bridge to get himself yet another mug of coffee.

Being the youngest officer of the ship, Vadim didn’t have the more rugged look of the other crewmen yet but he did carry himself with a certain assurance. He was a 1m74-tall male of Slavic descent, which was quite clear in his round face and dark brown hair and eyes. He wore his hair very short with a thick mustache –not what he’d prefer, but per order of the Captain it was the only authorised type of facial pilosity, so that they all could make use of breathing apparatuses in case of a fire-. He wore orange high visibility coveralls with the initials of the company on his back, ankle-high safety shoes and an old black faux-leather jacket in which he liked to keep his cigarettes. Right now, he had a bit of a limp due to a fall he’d had earlier that day in the mess hall (because of this he also sported a bandage around his knee and a tablet of painkillers to go with the cigs in his jacket) and he had the beginning of bags developing under his eyes.

As he took the first sip of his new cup, Vadim heard a crackle of static over the radio and what he thought was an announcement of sorts. He made his way over to the radio station and pressed the replay button on the VHF panel. The system replayed the message and out came a short burst of static followed by a garbled message... sounded like Dutch to him but he didn’t speak the language so he just shrugged and assumed it wasn’t meant for Amandine and went back to his oh so important and fascinating task of monitoring an unmoving and unloaded vessel.

Seconds later, before he even had the time to contemplate how bad the coffee tasted, the radio came to life once more. This time it was a longer burst of static which came from the short wave receiver. It wouldn’t have mattered much if that hadn’t been followed by another bout of static on the long waves, then another via VHF, and another... Soon, all of the radio equipment was crackling with an unending stream of static. He leaned over the equipment and tried to figure out was the hell was up with the radio but the problem ceased as fast as it had appeared.

Vadim scratched his hair in bewilderment and walked outside, coffee in hand to check if anyone was on the roof of the bridge messing with antennas – Carlos from engineering did love to mess around with the ship’s electronics so it wasn’t that far out of left field- but there was no one there and the antennas looked fine. He wrote a note next to the radio station about the incident so as not to forget to look into it the next day –he didn’t feel like waking anyone up over some meaningless static, however weird it may seem-.

But just as he stuck the post-it note to the radio station and moved back to pick up his coffee, he spotted a pink flash out of the windows of the bridge, followed shortly by an electric crackle that lasted a couple seconds.

Completely forgetting his coffee, he ran to one of the bridge wings to investigate. Just as he stepped out, he spotted the sky flashing a bright pink, once, twice, thrice, and then the electric crackle followed yet again.

Vadim thought about warning the captain and reached for the interphone, but before he could type the right number, the sky flashed but like a stroboscope this time. A coppery taste filled his mouth as a stronger crackling sound rang out, louder than ever. Dropping the handset and pressing his hands against his ears to block it out, Vadim gave the sky one last look. It was shining with all colours of the rainbow. Shortly after, he whited out, unaware of the significant turn his life, and that of the entire world were about to take.

Elsewhere in the aether, forces long left dormant stirred.

Author's Note

Greetings folks and welcome to the first story I ever bothered to publish on that marvelous thing we call the Internet.

Feel free to leave feedback as I'd be glad to hear how this story is received. English isn't my mother language if you hadn't noticed so I'm sorry for any odd turn of phrase you may find, SMCP based English isn't the best kind of prose to learn from after all.

Chapter 4: A Bed, a Bottle of Vodka and a Mirror

The captain was off to his cabin and they now had a course of action to follow. Vadim’s gaze swept the group around him. He spoke up.

“So, how do you all want to go about this now?”

Alejandro crossed his arms and shrugged, as the head of department he could have unilaterally steered them in the direction he wanted but he didn’t feel the need to do that, his fellow deck officers were mature enough to get their job done on their own.

“It’s not really like we’re in too much of a hurry, so I wouldn’t worry. Charting a passage to Zeebrugge should only take an hour, tops. Just need to modify a route passing by the pilot station and adjust the calculations in consequences, no big deal and I’m pretty sure I left an excel sheet on the server to compute that.” He let himself plop down in the helmsman seat. “That can be done by whoever’s on watch, and that will even help ward off the boredom. And setting up a shore party? Just make a list with any of the deck guys that are not busy doing the mooring. There, job done.”

“And what about the tug problem?” Cadet De Vries asked. She (he? Might want to give some thought on which pronoun to use with Micha and De Vries before it blew up in their face) was leaning on the chart table as she said that.

The Chief Officer chuckled at that. “Please, I know my trade. There is a trick in that port with the whirlpool that’s just after the breakwater. I’ll calculate our speed so that we come with the right tide and it will swing us just right so we can lay Amandine’s arse right on the quay. We only ever use tugs because they’re compulsory for a ship her size. As I said, easy as can be if you know what you’re doing. Heck, we don’t even have to go to a particularly difficult berthing, I’m pretty sure if no one is home in port control, we can nab the car terminal that’s right in line with the entrance.”

“You sure the captain won’t mind us using that trick? I remember he’s pretty by the book when it comes to manoeuvring.”

“He’s the one who showed me how to do it, no biggie. He’s just forced to use standard company procedures usually. You should see the vids he keeps of his manoeuvres with the Indian navy.”

The cadet tilted her head in confusion. “Navy?”

“Oh yeah you’re not up to snuff about that.” Alejandro realized. “The captain, he’s a reservist with the Indian Navy, never mentioned the rank tho’.”

“Eh Chief that’s new to me too that.” Vadim added. “I knew he was giving lessons at a cadet school but I didn’t know their navy actually put him on their ships. You knew that Micha?”

“Nope” The bald eagle headed griffon said wide eyed. “But that explains the attitude.”

“That it does. But I think that’s beside the point.” The Ukrainian said. “Not that I want to kill the gossiping in its infancy but I’ve been up for an ungodly long time and I’d rather be asleep right now. That time travel is giving me a nasty case of jetlag to boot. So... if we could clear out the watch thing if you don’t mind?”

“No te preocupes” Alejandro said with a shake of his head “But if we keep the four hour watch plan that only gives you uh...” He glanced at the clock, it was now half past ten. “Less than five hours of sleep.”

“What, you want to skip to a six hour scheme?”

“Nah.” He glanced at the female parrot next to the chart table. “I was thinking our young and fresh cadet was now ready to monitor the anchor.” That surprised her(him? For the love of God that’s starting to be annoying Vadim thought).

“Me? You sure about that?”

“You got your certifications and the sea time to back it up, and you heard the captain. You’re technically a new third officer as soon as we reach port. And I’m only asking you to pick up the slack for Vadim, complete with a favour, to be redeemed later.” A glance towards the Griffon killed any protest about the last clause in its egg. “And we all know what kind of favours he can provide.” Vadim rolled his eyes.

“A true capitalist uh, Chief?”

“Shut it, you were a few months old in ’89 last I checked, don’t you dare go the communist route on me.”

The Slavic griffon reached for his heart with a claw. “You wound me chief, and here I thought we were friends, oh the agony.” He smiled and shook his head “Anyway cadet, or I guess I should start calling you by your name right? So, Geert... “The pronunciation of the name made everybody wince in sympathy for the poor syllables “What is it you’d like from uncle Vadim’s stash? Rare vodka, cigs, Havana’s?”

“You guys aren’t even going to worry that much about a wet behind the ears cadet being left alone on the bridge? Really?” Geert asked with a dubious look.

“Eh when I was in your place my first watch alone was crossing a traffic lane at night and at full load” Micha commented “You really aren’t in any position to complain as far as I’m concerned. And you’re getting a pick in his stash at that.” The Pole pointed a claw towards the now smiling griffon that had retrieved a notepad from his pocket. Geert gave the Chief Officer a pleading look but that only sent the guy into a snickering fit. Eventually, she relented.

“Fine, hook me up with that Polish Vodka I saw you sipping like juice the other day.”

“Fantastic choice! One bottle of Belvedere coming up to your cabin by next watch. Have a good watch folks –urk!” Vadim gargled when Micha stopped his escape by grabbing his collar.

“Forgot to tell us if we should wake you up when they open the cafeteria opens.”

“Fuck no! Just tell Rahul to save me a plate of whatever you and the other griffons found palatable, I need my sleep. I have the keys to the kitchen, so I’ll just grab it in the fridge and reheat it.”

Micha didn’t stop him when he ran off again. It seemed like the appeal of a bed had given him a good control of the four leg drive. Except that the Ukrainian failed to pay attention to his tail when he went for the door and closed it behind him.

“Blyat!” He practically yowled in Russian, reaching for his tail. That, of course, meant that he missed the first step in the stairs and his fellow officers saw him disappear down the stairway. There was a dull thud, followed by a pained groan.

“Should I check on him?” Geert asked, slightly worried.

“Nah, he’s fine. Third time this month. You’d think he’d start paying attention when he’s learning how to walk anew but nooo, mister’s got a meeting with his bed so let’s sprint ahead without even knowing how to.” Micha commented. “He always does that when I come to relieve him at night. It’s a wonder he’s never woken up the captain.” He hesitated. “The Russian swearing is new tho’, usually it’s just ‘shit’,’fuck’ or ‘kurwa’, he must have got that from Artyom.”

“Uh, guess some things never change regardless of how bad the situation gets...” Alejandro commented. He looked at Micha “You’re not leaving?”

“Nah, what for? My watch is almost in an hour anyway. It’s not like I’m tired either since Vadim insisted on doing most of the navigation from Purfleet to here to pay back some favours.”

Alejandro just shrugged. He glanced at Geert.

“Oh and if that helps remember that every cabin has an interphone so if there is any trouble during your anchor watch, and there won’t be any, feel free to call anyone.”

If she wasn’t already red because of the feathers, the Spaniard could have sworn he saw her blush.

“Oh... Guess I forgot about that.”

Uncaring of the fall, Vadim continued his way towards his cabin. The fall had been more of a scare than an actual danger anyway, but his tail was still throbbing. He would have to start paying attention to the bloody thing, or else he could be in for a lot more than a bruised ego if he failed to keep in check. Many things on Amandine could make mincemeat of the unwary, and dying because your tail pulled you in the equivalent of a giant grinder didn’t sound particularly appealing to him.

He was on deck B, the first one immediately below the bridge, which housed the captain’s quarters, the servers, library, chart room and the ship’s office being the most important rooms, the rest of the space being occupied by supply lockers, backup systems and control nodes. The hallway on this deck was just a straight line with the captain’s quarters on one side, and the other rooms on the other. On one end of the hallway was the stairway leading up to the bridge and on the other was a weathertight door leading to the outer deck, next to a closet in which they stored fire fighting equipment.

The ship was of a recent build and it showed. While certainly not luxurious and instead very utilitarian, the shipyard had taken great care in making the appearance of the interior (at least, in the accommodation part of the ship) pleasant to the eyes and easy to maintain. The walls were lined up to waist height with fake pine wood planks, the rest being painted off white with vertical red stripes. The floor was covered by a cheap but admittedly decent looking burgundy carpet, with a striped pattern parallel to that found on the walls. And it was easy to fix and clean to boot.

Vadim walked over to an alcove on the captain’s side of the hallway which hid a hatch leading deeper in the accommodation. He eyed the steep slope of the stairs warily, not really willing to get a repeat of his fall. Still, emboldened by the call of his bed, he just grabbed the guard rail firmly in his claws and let himself slide down, skipping all steps. The impact was jarring, but at least the technique had the merit of having him land on his feet instead of his face, a definitive improvement.

He was now on Deck C, or the Officer’s deck as was its implicit name due to it housing only the officers’ cabins (and some extras for pilots and VIP’s) and lounge apart from some offices.

This one was designed around a U-shaped hallway pointing forward. The offices and lounge, as well as the ship’s vault were all on the inner part of the U, whereas the cabins were on the outer side. There was an access to the main stairway, where Vadim was at the moment, in the bottom centre of the U, leading both up and down. There were also some stairs leading down next to the doors leading outside, on both extremities of the U.

All officers shared similar cabins and Vadim’s was the closest to the portside door. While he walked to his own cabin, Vadim spotted the Second Engineer, Angelo, who had been turned into a minotaur, make his way to his cabin with a large bundle of orange fabric under his arm. Big guy had his work cut out for him modifying his coveralls to fit his enlarged bulk, he had gone the whole way from a small scrawny geek to a 2m10 tall giant with the musculature of a Greek god. For now the Greek guy (fate has some odd sense of humour it seemed) was walking around bare-chested, exposing his hairy muscle-bound frame for the world to see.

The Third Officer didn’t bother engaging in a conversation with the clearly busy engineer and simply walked past him to his cabin.

He embarrassingly shuffled around for a bit trying to extract his keys from his rear pocket. While he could bend his spine easily enough, the two bulges on his back (which he know knew hid a pair of wings he honestly didn’t know how to react about) kept preventing his arms from reaching the pocket behind his kidneys (yes, he had a thing for coveralls with oddly placed pocket, so sue him if you will, his jacket had eight pockets).

With a sigh of relief, he managed to extract the keys from the pocket after a frantic exercise in agility, having had to wedge himself against the wall to get access to it. The key slid in the lock out of muscle memory and he was inside before he had time to think about it.

The cabin, if simply designed, was rather spacious and quite comfortable. He had some light streaming in from two portholes, good ventilation from the A/C and he could set it to whatever temperature he felt like if he wanted. A luxury on many merchant ships. The cabin was divided in three parts: the entrance, in which he had his desk and filing cabinet, as well as a couple shelves on which he stored some books and a CD collection. His laptop, a slow but sturdy machine, rested on the desk, powered off but hooked to the ship’s grid. Opposite the desk was a wardrobe laid in the wall with a few hooks for clothing on it and a rack to store shoes. There was also an interphone attached next to the door with a list of numbers for every connected room on board.

The second part of the cabin was his own personal bathroom, which he cherished very much after having had to share on previous ships. It was covered in white and blue tiling, had some powered racks to dry his clothing and towels, a toilet, sink, and a shower. It was in a small room set in a corner of the cabin.

The last part was the ‘bedroom’, hidden behind a curtain. It was recessed from the rest of the cabin and had a large bed placed below the second porthole of the room, for which Vadim had personally gone out of his way to find a comfortable blanket. There were also a couple drawers under the bed and another wardrobe laid in the wall. His nightstand was solidly attached to the floor and heavily reinforced; it doubled as his safe locker and had the boon of coming with an integrated retro-looking digital clock.

All over the room were signs of Vadim customizing it to give it a feeling of home far away from home. There were a couple posters of cars attached to the wall, with one larger one drawing the eyes: it was the general schematic of a Ford Escort Mk2 he was building back home. There were a couple post-it notes stuck on it, ideas he had had about this feature or that he wanted to add when he completed the kit car. Above his desk, an erotic calendar was proudly displayed. Vadim had sworn to himself to wait the whole way before taking a peek at Miss June. The bookshelves were an assorted mix showing his preferences in music (which was a disturbingly odd mix of classical compilations and hardbass CD’s) and literature: some war novels, a couple actual after-action-reports he had salvaged, the obligatory porn magazine and some vintage instruction manuals for kit car aficionados.

On his desk, next to his laptop, there was a framed photo of a smiling blonde girl with Vadim by her side and a small silk covered box beside it.

Vadim shrugged off his jacket, hung it on the wall peg and made his way into the bathroom after taking off his shoes, intent on finding out what his new mugshot looked like. In passing, he grabbed a lone half full bottle of Eristoff. That would help him with processing the sights.

Inside, he took off his coveralls, which he tossed in the bin and then steeled his nerves for the reveal. He had already seen the results on Micha and the other griffons, now it was time to see it on his own person in all its gruesome details. He absent-mindedly took off both his T-shirt and his boxers (those were good for the thrash anyway, having been ripped apart by him sprouting wings and a tail) as he approached the mirror. With a heave, he braced himself with both claws on the sink and lifted himself up.

Oh Hi there Mr Bird. He thought, immediately popping the plug on his vodka and downing a sizeable part of the bottle. Boy was he a sight for sore eyes.

“Good lord I’m fucking ugly.”

Staring at him was something that was quite a ways away from his formerly handsome facial features. Because, of course, birds could not be handsome. His head was now covered in grey feathers of varying shades. The back of his head and neck were covered in dark grey feathers speckled with black spots while the rest of his face was covered in light grey feathers. He had a smallish crest of feathers pointing backwards on the top of his head, and some tufts of down on the sides of his face akin to sideburns.

Of course, there was also the beak present in the middle of his face. It was a matte yellow, with a black tip which curved downwards. As he had noticed earlier on the bridge, the tooth-like notch on the upper part of his beak, just behind the tip, indicated he had turned into some species of falcon, though he couldn’t point out which (not that he knew many to begin with). Just on the top of his beak, he also spotted two discreet holes, he was now part of the noseless people club (Lord Voldemort being a famous member). Vadim opened his beak. He had a long black tongue inside and... he saw a flash of white and started poking around carefully. Yep, he did have some teeth, some rows of molars in the back of the mouth past the beak, but that was all, no row of teeth in the middle of the mouth, just his sharp beak. Still, that left him hope at having a somewhat omnivorous diet. He made a face in the mirror, noting how the beak seemed able to bend to show very humanlike expressions despite being hard to the touch.

His eyes were enshrined in a circle of yellow skin. They were a bit odd he found, because contrarily to what intuition would have led him to believe, they weren’t really those of a bird of prey. Sure, they were larger than human eyes, but they also had whites which he had never seen on raptor birds, though that explained how he was able to move them around without moving his head. The pupils were rather large, but he was more surprised by the size and colour of his iris. He had brown eyes before, but now they were yellow, with the colour progressively turning to a greener shade towards the outer edge of the circle.

Vadim couldn’t spot ears on the side of his head, but a quick search revealed that they had been turned into ear holes, each hidden behind a layer of down slightly thinner layer of down. Both holes were surrounded by a cartilaginous ridge. He would have to see if it affected his ability to hear (probably more about the sound location than the sensitivity) but that change meant he was now unable to use glasses. No matter, he had a pair of safety stashed... somewhere.

Now that he was naked, Vadim also got a good look at his body with the sight unimpeded by the presence of his coveralls. The entire front half of his body was covered in feathers, those keeping with the pattern of dark grey on his back and light grey on the rest. He pressed a claw against his chest, noting how thick and fluffy the down on his front was. Probably wouldn’t freeze with that anytime soon.

He halted a moment. There was something odd. He pressed the palm of his claw against his chest and moved it around a bit, feeling a heartbeat but not in the usual place.

Talk about a day full of surprises: his heart had been moved in the middle of his chest, safely protected behind his sternum.

The next object of his focus was the pair of wings on his back. Very large wings from what he could tell. In folded position like they were at the moment, they still occupied the entire length of his body. They were the same colour as the rest of his body, with the addition of having black tips. Vadim tried to move them, but only managed to make them twitch a bit. He tried again to no avail, unable to figure out how to work the muscles beneath the feathers, so he pried one open with his claw. Bad idea, very bad idea.

Touching the wing itself wasn’t the problem. Moving it by force, however, sent an unexpected jolt running through the wing’s nerves which sent him to the floor gasping. It felt like an electrocution but at least he was now keenly aware of the way his nerves were connected: the wing was segmented like an arm with a ‘shoulder’, ‘elbow’ and a ‘wrist’. Vadim tried to make a few motions with it but that only made it trash about haphazardly so he grabbed it with both claws and folded it back in place. By some thankfully ingrained reflex, the wing stayed in place.

Next stop on the way to self (re)discovery: take a look at your own hindquarters, Vadim thought, taking a swig of vodka. The rear half of his body, he recognised, was that of a mountain lion. He had buff fur all over, except in the belly area where it was a darker shade of brown similar to the tip of his tail. Like his feathers, the fur was quite thick and would keep him warm (and most likely, too warm). A quick look at the skin in the area where avian and feline halves met revealed no notable change in the skin underneath his coat. The tail wasn’t of much interest to him and he didn’t feel like touching it because it was still throbbing from being smashed by a steel door.

No, what he really had to know at the moment was the situation with his other tail. The third leg. The rod of glory. He flipped on his back and spread his legs to take a look. First note of the inspection: seldom had he seen balls this hairy. He paused to take a large sip from his bottle. The cataclysm (because what else could you call it in such circumstances?), had made his nut layout change from parallel to in-line, in addition to hiding his dick in a furry sheath. Vadim carefully eyed his claws. Did he really feel like poking around his genitals with sharp objects he was not quite familiar with yet? Another swig of vodka. Yes he did, what was he supposed to fap with anyway? His hind legs? Careful prodding revealed that (much to his relief), the rest of his genitals was of a similar brand to the previous model so he already knew the user manual. Still, his claws would need a trim if he wanted to practice his tried and proved techniques. He gazed upwards at his sink. The nail file was there, so that was a task to be done, but later.

Vadim didn’t even look at the content left in the bottle before downing it in one go. With a practiced swing of his arm, it landed in a bin next to his desk outside the bathroom. He turned on the shower and stepped in immediately. With how much pressure the engine room guys insisted on dumping into the heater, the temperature was quick to rise and he was soon enjoying a nice shower after a long (and that was quite the understatement) day of work. Cleaning his new coat took him quite a bit of work and a lot more soap than expected, the fur in particular, but he didn’t need more than fifteen minutes before he was out of the shower and drying himself with an hairdryer (which he usually used on wet clothes when the air was too humid outside) and a brush (‘cause he’d readily bet that not using it would just lead to him looking like half of a poofy furball).

Trimming his claws was a quick affair. Vadim elected to only leave the index sharp and dull the rest so he would always have something sharp on hand (or claw?). To avoid slashing something when he didn’t mean it, he added a layer of isolating tape around the sharp claws, which he retrieved from his desk.

The Ukrainian allowed himself to yawn. Why use sleeping pills when you have vodka, eh. He had done just about everything he wanted before hitting the hay. In short order, he had programmed his alarm clock to ring eight hours later. After that, he was under the covers trying to find the right position. Failing to sleep normally due to the presence of wings, he wound up basically making a nest out of his bed covers and sleeping in it curled up like a cat.

Chapter 25: The Port of Copenhagen

Yellow slitted eyes opened groggily. What had she been doing again? Right… The radio station, the rescue, the fire...So much fire and smoke, and then red eyes in the darkness that sent shivers down the mare’s spine. Hold on, no, the red eyes belonged to one of the good guys. All that stuff was still hazy and her having just woken up wasn’t helping.

Her sensitive ears twitched and the fog on her mind dropped enough that she stopped to look around herself. Someone had removed her headphones, and they now lay next to her aviators on a nightstand by the single person bed she was in. It looked like the sailors had put her in a cabin on their ship. There were noises all around she could pick up easily: whirring from the A/C, rumbling from the generators and all other kinds of machinery that made out a ship like Amandine; she could even pick out movement and voices just beyond the door of her cabin.

The place was decently sized, if bare. The cabin was a narrow rectangular room with a single person bed placed just under a porthole which had its blinds pulled down. Light streaming from behind them told her the sun had already risen. The walls were left white and undecorated except for emergency instructions and an evacuation plan hanging on the wall by the entrance. Sandra took note that the cabin had many cabinets and closets recessed in the wall on one side, and a door labeled ‘bathroom’ on the other. She also had a desk to go with the nightstand, next to which she could see a couple power outlets and an Ethernet connector.

Next to the entrance, a couple hooks had been put on the wall with a shoe rack just below. An inflatable life jacket was hanging from one such hook, and her bag from another. On the opposite wall, an interphone had been installed at mid height… for a human. To her, it was a bit tall, but not unreachable if she propped herself on the wall with her forehooves and used her wings to pick up the handset.

The dark purple batpony slowly shook her head and got up from the bed. The sailors had fitted it with a set of white sheets and a wool blanket before leaving her here. Not uncomfortable, but there was room for improvement.

Sandra hopped off the bed, landing softly on the carpet that covered the cabin’s floor. A short sniff told her that her fur reeked of smoke from the fire at the radio station… but a rumbling in her belly told her a shower could wait. Surviving for a couple days on only a few cans of food had left her quite famished. She flexed her wings and used them to grab her headphones which immediately went to cover her ears, the loud noises of the ship’s activity dulling down to a more tolerable level. It kept surprising her how flexible the appendages actually were. She remembered once reading about bats having flexible bones in their wings, but this was a whole new level of agility. Granted, the webbed wings didn’t hold up to actual hands, but they could act like large hands in a pinch. The aviators stayed on the nightstand; the mare’s focus having turned to a note left on the desk instead.

‘Miss Jensen,

Welcome to M/V Amandine

For your comfort, we left some soap and towels in the wardrobe. We assume you didn’t get much chance for hygiene while stuck in your radio station.

You are free to take your time to rest, but be aware that the Captain wishes to have a word with you once you are settled. Ask any nearby sailor to be led to his office when you feel ready. Please try to visit him before 14.00 or you will have to wait until he gets back from the Rhine Forest.

Food is available in the cafeteria. The Chief Cook has been warned that you may not wake up on time for breakfast (07.30 to 08.30) so that he would leave something in the pantry for you. You only need to ask in the kitchen for that.

We have noticed you didn’t have any clothing on when you were rescued. For safety and decency reasons it is compulsory to wear something on board. Sri (the hippogriff you should have already met) can help you with refitting one of our extra sets of coveralls. In your case, hoofed creatures don’t need to wear safety shoes but please do make use of a band to keep your mane hair from snagging on machinery.

Yours truly,

Georgio ‘Nala’ Farkas,

Chief Steward’

Simple enough then, Sandra thought, her eyes drifting towards the wardrobe in question. Go get some food, find Sri to get clothed and then she would go back to the cabin to get ready for her talk with the Captain. Simple enough.

While the Danish radio operator was waking up in her cabin, a group of three sailors was slowly exploring the direct area around the two ships in one of their Land Rovers. The Captain had been quick to send them out in the morning in order to secure a perimeter around the quays. With the sheer amount of wood hounds they had found around the station, further precautions needed to be taken as soon as possible.

Inside the Land Rover, Nikola was behind the wheel, the Bulgarian gargoyle having recovered enough to finally get back to work more or less normally. His ribs still ached a bit and he would have to wait a few days more before the stitches on his muzzle could be finally removed, but he felt good enough to do a bit of recon. By his side in the passenger seat was Aleksei, his superior busy looking at a map of the area.

“So what was the idea again?” Thanasis asked from the rear. They had taken a Defender 90 for that little mission, the fact that it didn’t have seats in the back not bothering the sphinx in the slightest. His new body was a poor fit for car seats, and they were driving slowly anyway.

“ISPS regulations from before the incident stipulate the terminal should be fenced off from the rest of the city.” Aleksei explained as the little 4x4 swerved around a container crane and drove past the Rhine Forest which still had her gangway raised at that hour. “It would be much simpler if we could just use the terminal’s checkpoints instead of making a barricade ourselves…”

“… Except we don’t know in which state the fence is.” Nikola continued. “Or if there is only one checkpoint for that matter.”

“But why would there be more? Isn’t that unnecessary?” The sphinx asked, one ear twitching in confusion.

“Most of the time yes, but some terminals use multiple: one for inbound vehicles, another for outbound. Something about streamlining the process or whatever.” Aleksei said. “What actually matters is that if there is more than one we will need to deploy more surveillance teams and figure out where they put the CCTV controls.”

“For the Captain’s research?” Nikola asked, downshifting one gear to keep the vehicle at a slow pace. Rhine Forest and Amandine were now behind them, with the rest of the terminal ahead.

“That too, but it comes second to knowing if we have something to keep an eye on the perimeter without sending out patrols or having a tall lookout. Cameras would make all that work easier.”

“A tall lookout?”

The light green hippogriff pointed a talon towards one of the container cranes. The structures towered above both ships in the harbor. They all had a platform with a railing just above their cabins, next to the counterweights.

“Sniper on overwatch basically.” She explained.

“Because we have a sniper?” Thanasis asked.

“Micha would be one… sorta. But the shooting part isn’t necessary, just someone with binos to point out breaches.” She shrugged.

Their 4x4 eventually reached the edge of the fence… which in all honesty wasn’t that tall. A mere two meters of chain link fence topped with razor wire kept unwanted folks from accessing the terminal. There was an extension against the edge of the quay that kept people from climbing around it as the only further protection, but on the bright side tall posts had been planted at regular intervals, each capped with a camera on a swivel.

Aleksei took note of it all, tracing the path of the fence on her map with a pencil. Nikola steered them to follow the fence around the terminal, driving his Defender at a reduced pace.

“By the way Aleksei, I’m curious about what you guys saw on Rhine Forest.” Thanasis said to break the silence.

“Well… she’s an interesting ship for sure. Not a common type at all, that much I can tell you and that includes her propulsion systems.”

“True as it may be, that’s not what I meant.” Thanasis said with a shake of his head, making his dark red mane rustle. “The crew’s what we all want to know. In fact we’ve barely seen any of them come out since their line handlers went back inside.”

“They do have a few interesting species on board.” Aleksei conceded. “And gender change is as much of a problem to them as it is to us.”

“Interesting species?” Nikola said. “That’s just teasing now. Can’t you just tell us outright what those species are?”

“Some are like us. One of their bosuns is a gargoyle.” She said. “Then there are the more original species like the centaurs.”

“For real? As in, half-horse half-men?” Thanasis asked.

“Yeah, but they got red skin for some reason.” Aleksei said with a click of her beak. The Defender rounded a corner of the fence, revealing a parking space for the terminal’s straddle carriers, the tall vehicles the stevedores used to drive to move containers around. “Then there was some sort of black anthropomorphic hedgehog that their nurse turned into.”

“Wait, nurse? As in, an actual nurse?” Nikola asked, almost stopping the Defender.

“Yeah, a trained nurse to go with their doctor. A real one, not an Officer with a medical certification like Vadim. Turns out helping those guys might have been an even better idea than we first thought. But that’s not the last of it…” Aleksei said with a smirk on her beak. She let tension build up for a second or two before finally spitting it out. “Female minotaur.” She told in a low voice.

“Shit you’re serious?” Thanasis said, only for the hippogriff to shake her head. “What did she look like?”

“Well, he would be more polite. It was one of their barge pilots, a Greek guy. But the result…” She whistled. “A motherfucking Amazon that’s what. Muscles like you’ve never seen, and tits to make a Russian bride look like a surfboard. Lemme tell you, the guy looked pissed.” She chuckled.

“I can imagine.” Thanasis said with raised eyebrows.

“But that’s not the best part. Hold on to your seats, you guys know how most of us seem to have uh… what’s the word? De-aged a bit if you catch my drift?”

“Well duh.” Thanasis said. “I’m supposed to be forty-seven and you Niko that was… forty-eight?”

“Six actually, but yeah, I feel pretty fucking far from that.” The gargoyle said, one hand brushing through his black mane. The Bulgarian had had it styled in a short cut on the sides, but still kept it rather long otherwise. “Even got some hair on my head again for that matter. Govno, I haven’t had any in ten years.”

“Their Captain, he got the whole nine yards with the change. Gender? Guy’s now a gal. Age? Bam, teenaged anew because of the fur-pocalypse. Species? Tiny pink unicorn. The best part? Imagine a creature like that talking with a German accent and a tangible hint of suppressed anger.” Aleksei told with a mirthful gleam in her eyes.

That had Thanasis choking down a laugh.

“The poor guy.” Nikola said in fake concern. It was pretty clear by the small smile on his muzzle and the tone of his voice he was trying not to break his façade.

Their discussion was cut short by their discovery of the first checkpoint of the terminal. A set of gates next to a glass building marked the first access point. The trio was quick to dismount their vehicles and go explore the building.

The inside revealed nothing particular: the place might have been modern and clean before the Event struck, but now it was clearly starting to suffer from disuse with dust building up in places, and humidity in others. Damage to the electrical installation was minimal, allowing them to easily access the camera grid and remotely close the gates. Aleksei added the location on his map and they left once they were sure the gates were locked.

Someone would have to come back later to set up the defenses and extract the CCTV footage from the Event so that their research could progress, but this wasn’t their role at the moment (and they didn’t have anything to store the data anyway). The group piled back inside their Land Rover and continued on their way through the terminal. Their earlier hunch of a secondary access eventually turned out to be right, with an outbound checkpoint installed on a bridge within the facilities. The access being situated on a bridge and on a less exposed flank meant they wouldn’t have to put as many sailors on watch there, but Aleksei didn’t dare think how bad things could have turned out had they not located it.

The trio eventually got back to the ship, their quick recon done. Just before they reached the ramp, Aleksei and Thanasis both got off to leave parking the Defender to Nikola. The sphinx and hippogriff started walking up the side of the wide ramp at the exact same moment a Unimog from another recon team chose to exit the ship. Its driver, not having seen Nikola’s 4x4 in time, swerved to avoid the smaller vehicle, almost crushing the two sailors that were on the side of the ramp. Thanasis managed to jump back and neatly dodge the truck, but Aleksei got clipped in the head by the truck’s mirror, sending the Latvian tumbling off the ramp and down in the water.

Every activity by the ramp stopped abruptly as echoing cries of ‘Man overboard!’ resonated around the car deck. A blue flash of light went off as Aleksei’s body hit the water before disappearing under the surface. Once the truck was out of the way, Thanasis rushed over to the side of the ramp in hopes of catching his superior with his telekinesis, only to stare in dismay at the disturbed surface of the water. Someone immediately reached for a radio to warn the bridge of the incident and more sailors streamed out of the ramp to look for their fallen shipmate.

Down in the water, Aleksei was having a… unique experience to say the least. The moment she had hit the water she felt a buzzing of sorts build up in her chest suddenly, accompanied by a freezing sensation in the back of her mind and down her spine. She instinctively willed the sensation to go away and then, to her utter surprise, a blue flash of light appeared, a popping sound resounding inside her mind as she sank deeper. The oppressive feeling of not being able to breathe in the water went away all of a sudden, along with the feeling of the water pressing down on her and the murkiness that came with looking through the water.

Weirder even, was how she suddenly lost all sensation in her talons and how… odd her rear hooves were feeling. The sinking hippogriff passed the ship’s propellers and rudders on the way down, the enormous steel structure still spotless from its last coat of red antifouling paint. She knew she should have felt pressure build up in her ears as she went deeper like that, but that wasn’t the case. She could see clearly, she could breathe, she felt… fine.

Aleksei was finally shaken from her confusion when she hit the seabed below the ship, her landing kicking up a small cloud of sand. Looking around, she could see the tall dark wall of the quay by her side, covered in mussels and algae. The seabed around her was made of rippling sand, with bits of oysters-covered rocks and sea grass breaking up its continuity. Above her, Amandine and her extended ramp cast a huge shadow over the seabed, the sound of her generators creating a constant droning noise. A school of fish swam across her field of vision, the silver skinned creatures completely ignoring the sailor that was laying on the seabed an arm’s length away from them.

Amandine’s Third Engineer stopped all that staring and finally wondered why in Hell she wasn’t drowning at the moment. She looked down at her unresponsive talons; and then did a double-take. Instead of the usual avian appendages she had slowly gotten accustomed to during the last few weeks; she was met with a translucent membrane where her talons used to be. The membrane was a shade darker than the light green feathers that covered her ‘arms’. She still had a ‘wrist’ to speak of, which connected to the membrane, but the usual feathers of her avian half had been replaced with some kind of streamlined, waterproof fur that wouldn’t look out of place on a sea lion.

Bringing the fin closer to her face for inspection made her realize something else: she couldn’t see her beak anymore. The hard mandibles that had appeared overnight in the middle of her face had now been replaced with an equine muzzle that reminded her of Bart’s. But the muzzle wasn’t even the most bizarre: her orange coveralls had completely disappeared after that sudden transformation, leaving her in her birthday suit and able to gape wide-eyed at the most significant of all changes: her hooves were gone! In their stead was a large muscular tail that ended in a white set of fins not unlike those on her arms. Coupled with those were the nearly-transparent fins that seemed to have replaced her wings; the sight of which left the Latvian gaping at the changes in shock.

Echoes of voices coming from above the surface brought her staring to a halt. Right, she had just fallen overboard and had been underwater for a couple minutes now. That ought to leave any of her shipmates alarmed. The hippogriff (or whatever she now was anyway) shook her head forcefully, getting a glance at the fin-like membrane that had replaced the mane-crest of feathers on her head in passing. Now to get to the surface…

Having no idea on how to properly use her tail and wing fins yet, Aleksei settled for just using her arms to swim upwards. The motion felt natural and she quickly gained speed through the water, her smooth fur providing little resistance against the water. She had sunk quite deep beneath the docks, but the simple motion of a breaststroke using only her arms was enough to propel her quite fast despite her tail and wings trailing limply behind her. In a matter of seconds, she broke the surface of the water and discovered that despite her seeming ability to breathe underwater she could still breathe regular air just fine.

Surprised gasps and cries were heard the moment she surfaced, a couple sailors turning to point towards her. She saw Thanasis peer over the railing of the ramp and stare down at her with a surprised look on the sphinx’s features.

“Aleksei?!” The Greek sphinx called out. “Is that you?” What he saw was a creature with a color palette identical to that of his hippogriff superior, but its physical features didn’t match at all. That and the mermaid-esque creature was naked.

“Jā, it’s me.” Aleksei answered with a hint of hesitation in her voice.

“Man we thought you were dead!” Thanasis commented. “You were down there for like three minutes! What happened?”

More sailors were coming. She could see Vadim come closer to the railing, a first-aid kit and thermal blanket ready to help any potential victim, and next to him was Alejandro. The Chief Officer wasn’t looking too pleased at the moment, in no small part thanks to the fact that had she not transformed into… some kind of equine little mermaid, she would likely have drowned.

“I turned into a freakin’ mermaid that’s what happened.” She said, pulling her tail out of the water to show it. “Can breathe underwater too it seems, but no idea how or why.”

“That flash of light?” Thanasis asked.

“Was me… probably.” Aleksei said looking up at the sailors gathered on the side of the ramp. “The moment I hit the water there was this… sajūta.” She scrunched her muzzle. “Hard to describe really, but when I wished for relief I just changed into that shape.” She hefted up a finned arm for the others to see. “Lost my claws in the process. Shame, I was barely starting to get used to them.”

It was a testament to how quickly the crew had gotten used to that kind of weird event occurring that they weren’t even that surprised at the sight of their Third Engineer turning into an equine mermaid. Alejandro quickly ordered someone to fetch a line and a sling to get Aleksei out of the water before storming off towards the bridge, fuming. That reaction time to what should be considered an emergency had been way too long and there was no way that could have flown before the Event.

No reason to let it fly now either then, the parrot thought on his way up the stairs. It was high time to plan some extra training for the crew before their own complacency got someone killed.

Back next to the ramp, a couple sailors threw the sling down in the water which Aleksei tucked under her armpits. The fins on her arms made for a much worse alternative to talons so it took her a minute to properly grab the rope before they finally hoisted her out of the water. Vadim’s feathery brows rose as the rest of her aquatic body came in full view. Her overall size put her slightly above the harbor seals they frequently saw around the North Sea, though her light green fur and numerous white translucent fins made it impossible to mistake the two.

The odd part was: where were her coveralls? And all the gear she was carrying with that? The flak jacket, rifle, walkie-talkie, all that she had left with to go on recon earlier had mysteriously disappeared without a trace. Thanasis helped her up the side of the railing using a nudge of telekinesis, Aleksei flopping down on her side next to the edge of the ramp.

“Do you require medical assistance?” Vadim asked, quietly coming up next to the hippogriff with his medical gear on his back. “Just asking eh, I know it’s almost summer but the water isn’t that warm yet.”

“It’s fine, thanks.” Aleksei declined the help before staring down at her long tail. “That, however, definitely isn’t.”

“Can’t you just… you know, turn back?” Thanasis said, garnering nods from the surrounding sailors that had gathered onto the ramp.

Aleksei was about to answer that she had no clue how before closing her mouth (and having a mouth instead of a beak again felt weird). Maybe she could at least give it a try. She closed her eyes and concentrated on replicating the feeling that had preceded the change. The buzzing in her chest, the freezing in her spine, and there was this one thing on the edge of her mind she could swear had not been there earlier. She tried to ‘grasp’ that… energy of sorts with all of her focus. The moment she reached for it with her mind, she knew she had hit her goal as gasps were heard around her. Through her closed eyelids she spied another flash of light, and then she was a hippogriff again.

A thoroughly drenched hippogriff clad in a wet set of coveralls.

“How’d you do that?” Vadim and Thanasis asked her at the same time, both the sphinx and the griffon’s wings rising up in surprise.

“There was this thing… a sort of feeling in my spine, I think…” Aleksei started. “… I just willed to grasp it and then ‘bam’.” She said with a wave of her talons. “Hippogriff again.”

Thanasis seemed to have a bit of an understanding of the occurrence that Vadim obviously lacked, the griffon leveling a dubious stare at his colleague. He shook his head before ordering everyone around to just get on with it. Most of the sailors working in the area had stopped to gape at Aleksei’s transformation and mysterious reappearance of her gear. Enough delays had been built up already, the terminal needed to be secured ASAP otherwise they wouldn’t be able to carry out their work safely. As for Thanasis and Aleksei, both headed for the ship’s office to communicate the result of their earlier recon.

A dark purple thestral mare slowly made her way up the stairs with a hippogriff following close behind. Sandra had taken the time to get ready for her meeting with the Captain, she was fed, clean, and now clothed thanks to Farkas already having prepared a new set of coveralls just for her. Sri had even helped her by making holes in the back of the coveralls for her wings which she very much needed as makeshift hands. The hippogriff had been rather helpful despite supposedly being on light duty thanks to an injury received during her rescue. What surprised her even more was when the hippogriff corrected her and told her that ‘she’ was actually a ‘he’. Gender changes were actually even more widespread that she had first thought, though the hippogriff didn’t seem that offended by the mistake.

“Captain’s office is just behind that door.” Sri said pointing a talon towards Sandra’s destination. “You ready for that?” He asked her.

“Yeah… I am.” Sandra nodded, pulling the headphones off her ears and slowly trotting over to the door. They were pretty much a necessity for someone with sensitive ears like hers unless she wanted to hear every single bit of radio chatter (the sole fact she could hear it still puzzling her), engine noise and footsteps around the ship. “Mister Sri?” She asked tentatively to the hippogriff before he could go back down the stairs. “Could you come with me for the meeting, please?”

The hippogriff quirked his head at the request but didn’t otherwise object. The Danish mare… well, while she wasn’t exactly clingy she seemed particularly intent on sticking close to her rescuer. Not that odd, but he would have to get her to meet someone else eventually. He nodded.

Inside the Office, Dilip was standing facing the window with Alejandro behind him, the Spaniard busy giving some explanation about a ‘mermare’ incident and lackluster emergency training, with the Captain nodding in acknowledgment from time to time.

“Three bloody minutes Dilip!” Alejandro cried out. “If that’s how long it takes us to react to a man overboard situation how bad are our prospects in case of fire then?” The parrot said.

“Pretty poor I agree.” Dilip admitted, his eyes drifting towards a small warehouse within the boundaries of the terminal. “Here’s my suggestion: Artyom was already planning to set up a kill house for combat training. We got plenty of smoke grenades in storage, so go ask him to set up the house so you can do firefighting training as well. Once you’re satisfied with the performances, then we can move on to a full-blown exercise on board.”

“Will do. And that ‘mermare’ thing?”

Dilip turned around, spotting Sandra and Sri waiting in the back of the office.

“I suppose we will have to figure out if that’s something that concerns all hippogriffs at some point. But…” The pariah dog smiled, his gaze focusing on Sri. “…We might just have gained a couple divers on our crew.”

Alejandro almost protested to his superior’s seemingly casual dismissal of the matter before clicking his beak in annoyance. Whatever, he had some training to plan. The hyacinth macaw gave the Captain a sharp nod before walking away, giving Sandra a curious glance as he went past her. The Captain went back to his desk, motioning with one cream-furred paw toward the seats in front of it.

“Take a seat please. I’m happy to finally get to see you Miss Jensen, I heard you were injured?”

“Nothing actually serious sir. Just a minor cut I got on some glass shards.” Sandra said, lifting up a bandaged hoof for emphasis before hopping on the offered seat and sitting down on her haunches. “If anything, Sri here got much worse off rescuing me.” She said, motioning to the hippogriff next to her with her webbed wing.

“Ah yes. Back injury?” Dilip asked, earning a nod from Sri. “Do keep to light duty Sri, folks like you are very much needed on board.” He turned back towards Sandra. “I trust you were treated well up until now?”

“Of course Captain, my thanks to all your crew for helping me out.” She paused. “But I can’t help but wonder…”

“What’s gonna happen to you?” Dilip guessed.

“Yes…” She said; her cheerfulness almost immediately disappearing as her thoughts drifted to how everyone had disappeared.

“Miss, you are a certified radio operator, correct?” Dilip asked.

“Uh yes, of course. Certifications, and I even have a bachelor’s degree to go with that tech. But…”

“You’re young, new to the job?”

“Only a couple months of experience.” She admitted. “This was my first job you see…” She added with a small shrug of her wings.

“Nevertheless this does give me a justification to… hire you, so to speak. We wouldn’t abandon anyone out alone in a city where monsters have been found now, would we Sri?”

“Of course not, sir.” The ivory-colored hippogriff answered automatically.

“That being said, I like people I accept on board to be of use to the workings of this vessel. My willingness to lend assistance only goes so far you see. Amandine isn’t exactly running a charity.” Dilip explained. “But if you can be of some use? Then consider yourself welcome.” The Captain said, raising his arms in a welcoming gesture. “So what do you say?”

“I uh… of course I’d rather stay with a group than be alone.” Sandra said. “Now… I don’t have much with me.” She said, scratching the back of her head with a wing, ears low.

“Do you live far from here?”

“Downtown Copenhagen.” The mare said. “My houseboat was in Christianshavn.”

“Then it’s highly likely we can send a team to retrieve anything you wish from there.” The Captain reassured her. “Probably not today since we’re still busy securing the terminal, but we should be able to do it this week.” He then extended a paw towards her. “So, Miss Jensen, shall you join my crew?”

Sandra looked at the offered paw for only a second before reaching for it with a hoof. The Captain gave the hoof a firm shake before leaning back in his seat.

“Welcome to M/V Amandine then! I should have a proper contract for you by tomorrow.”

Soon after his meeting with Sandra, Dilip was seen leaving Amandine and heading for the Rhine Forest with Boris and Rahul in tow. Now that security teams had been dispatched to secure the checkpoints around the terminal, the trio could afford going unarmed, which would help not threatening their potential new allies. As he walked on, the Captain brushed a speck of dust off of his epaulettes, making sure his uniform was spotless. The Indian was still clad in his usual pilot shirt and cargo shorts. He had a hastily modified pair of slacks in his possession, but the article of clothing just didn’t fall the right way on his digitigrade legs. He was also carrying a briefcase containing some of his own research files he wished to show Rhine Forest’s Captain (a unicorn by the name of Gerig if he recalled correctly).

Behind him, Boris and Rahul had roles of their own to achieve on the Rhine. The two of them should be particularly familiar with some of the practical aspects of the changes. A show of goodwill by sharing clothing templates and cooking tips for the different species was probably a good way to get in the new returnees’ good graces. Dilip had made damn sure both of his ‘aides’ knew how important that little bit of diplomacy was. The two may not have actual dress blues of their own, but at least they made a show of putting on fresh sets of coveralls and properly waxed shoes. Boris’ set even had that zipper system for his wings on the back of his coveralls he had seen several winged sailors begin using as of recently.

The three of them came to a halt at the bottom of the Rhine’s gangway. Her ramp had been raised, with a single yellow hippogriff with a blue mane guarding the top. By the appearance of his coveralls, Rhine Forest really would need their templates to refit their clothes. Dilip gave the sailor a wave of his paw to garner his attention.

“Good afternoon.” The Captain called out across the distance that separated Rhine Forest’s deck from the quay; her deck wasn’t much higher than the quay but it was quite a jump to get across, probably four or five meters. “I’m Captain Prateek from Amandine, is Captain Gerig available for a meeting?”

The hippogriff gestured for them to wait a second before he dipped behind a steel beam to grab a walkie-talkie, allowing the trio to spot the ranks on his white coveralls that labeled him as an engine cadet. They heard a bit of chatter on the radio before the cadet came back towards the railing.

“Kapitän’s free. Hold on a minute, the boatswain’s coming.” He said with a heavy German accent before reaching for the gangway’s controls and pressing on a button. The ramp slowly came down with an electric whirr.

A minute later, the familiar figure of black furred gargoyle with a grey mane emerged from Rhine Forest’s superstructure, Pavlos. Boris remembered briefly meeting the Greek during his visit onboard of Rhine Forest a couple days earlier. The gargoyle was followed by a small griffon, one that was half-buzzard half-caracal.

Actually no, that wasn’t a small griffon; rather it was a kid griffon, and a female at that from the blue spot she had on her forehead above her beak. Or he most likely: the griffon bore the ranks of a boatswain on his shoulders, and Boris could have sworn Pavlos had mentioned the other bosun as a male last time. The Russian griffon stopped his staring when the young griffon noticed and threw him a harsh glare.

Now, Amandine’s sailors had been rejuvenated a bit by the change but that was something else entirely. Talk about lucking out with the change.

“Good afternoon Captain.” Pavlos greeted Dilip with a nod. “Captain Gerig awaits you in his office.” He motioned with his hand towards the superstructure. “Shall we?”

The three sailors were led to the Captain’s quarters just below Rhine Forest’s bridge. They noted the apparent lack of activity aboard the vessel, which contrasted sharply with Amandine’s bustling car decks. Sure, there were sailors walking around inside the accommodation, but nowhere near what should be expected from a vessel with a crew of fifty souls.

Captain Gerig’s office was not unlike Dilip’s, albeit with different decorations. Pictures and trophies from Rhine Forest’s long career were hung on the walls and inside of glass showcases. A painting of Rhine Forest in Rotterdam (Dilip recognized the harbor) was displayed on the wall just behind the Captain’s desk, the painting partly illuminated by rays of sunshine that streamed through closed curtains.

Gerig was sitting behind an imposing executive desk, the pink unicorn mare looking glumly at files on his desk before he noticed the sailors coming in his office and put on a sterner mask. From the way he was sitting, only the fore half of his body was visible, clad in a hastily resized pilot shirt not unlike Dilip’s. His poofy white mane was held back behind his large mobile ears by an elastic band. Visibly, the German was having a hard time coping with the changes. His blue eyes quickly flicked towards Dilip’s epaulettes and he greeted the other Captain with a sharp nod.

“Captain Prateek I presume?” He asked rhetorically, his best attempt at making his voice deeper utterly failing to hide his new, much softer tone of voice. “I’m happy to finally get to meet you in person. Please do take a seat.” He said, waving a hoof towards a set of three chairs in front of his desk.

“I see you managed to get your ship to berth without too much trouble.” Dilip started after sitting down, Boris and Rahul on either side of him. “How goes your crew?”

“Not too great I’m afraid.” The unicorn shook his head. “I myself have the greatest of difficulties achieving anything without hands. That telekinesis your Third Officer mentioned just doesn’t seem to come to me so I’m stuck using my mouth.” He grumbled. “The centaurs are slowly starting to figure out how to walk around but overall, morale is abysmally low.”

“Would us offering assistance help the matter in any significant way?” Dilip calmly proposed. “I can arrange for a sphinx to come give a lesson on the use of telekinesis later if need be. As for Boris and Rahul here…” He said, nodding towards his subordinates with his muzzle. “… I have brought them to aid your vessel with simple ‘ergonomic’ matters such as food and clothing. What sailors we saw on deck seem to manage but we can offer tips…”

“You’re expecting something in return aren’t you?” Gerig said flatly.

“No need to lie about it. We sent a team on a rescue mission yesterday, it was successful, but one of my deck sailors got injured in the process, possibly a fracture. Boris here told me your infirmary had radiology equipment.”

“Then consider it allowed. Feel free to send your injured crewmember anytime. As for the food and clothing…” Gerig closed his eyes. “The stairs to the bridge are just down the hallway, ask anyone there for directions to the cafeteria. The Chief Steward usually hangs around there.”

With a glance and a gesture of his paw, Dilip mutely told his subordinates to leave the room. Boris and Rahul stood up silently and departed without a word, both Captains waiting until the two sailors had closed the door before facing each other again.

“You helping us is backed by more than a mere need for radiology.” Gerig said.

“As you were probably told earlier, the planet is pretty much deserted from the catastrophe that occurred. It’s within my interest to keep ties with large groups such as your vessel. Before your reappearance the number of known survivors stood at a whopping two for the entirety of Western Europe, Amandine not included.”

“That bad uh?”

“The part about the ‘reappearance’ leaves us some hope… but I’m afraid the rate of return is dreadfully low.” Dilip admitted. “But that’s not all.” He lifted his briefcase up on his lap. “In here I have a copy of most of the research and data my crew has managed to retrieve and process as of yet. Including files on the monsters we have faced. These monsters have already caused many injuries to my crew and are the main reason we have had to go out of our way to get weapons.” He said, taking out a picture of a wood hound taken during Sandra’s rescue by the Unimog’s dashcam.

“Monsters uh…” Gerig muttered, staring at the picture with a frown. “How many weapons does your crew have?”

“Only enough to arm ourselves.” Dilip said. They may have a lot of machineguns but they really had only taken what they needed from the armory in Zeebrugge. Future survivors should be able to arm themselves there as well… just with a lot less ammo to spare and no fancy SCAR’s or P90’s. “But there is a chance… I have my secretary combing through any intel we have on military bases around here…”

“Don’t you have the local you rescued yesterday anyway?” Gerig cut the dog off.

“You know what; she actually didn’t cross my mind. Maybe she does know where to find guns. Intel aside, surely there are other things you wish to know?”

The conversation went on for a least an hour, with Dilip sharing most of what they knew on what happened (with a marked exception when it came to the HPI, he would have to try and contact Eko to know if the secret could be shared) following the Event. Amandine had gathered a lot of valuable data and items in the last few weeks, including her chart portfolio and the printer that came with it. The admiralty files and ground charts from Zeebrugge were useful intel as well. They virtually allowed them to sail to any port around the Atlantic and Mediterranean Sea provided there was enough water depth not to ground their ship.

Gerig and Dilip were quick to pledge a deal of mutual assistance for the near future. It was in the interest of each and every sailor to stick with as many survivors as possible, and having a larger manpower base would facilitate a lot of their work. There were many crewmembers on Rhine Forest that had skills Amandine lacked, just as some on Amandine had expertise that the Rhine’s complement lacked. Two quick agreements they concluded during that meeting was that Dilip would send Vadim and maybe Boris for further medical training with Rhine Forest’s own doctor; and that they would attempt to arm Rhine Forest as soon as possible. Before even leaving the office, Dilip had already contacted Roberto by phone to instruct the secretary to recoup his intelligence with Sandra’s own local knowledge to find the nearest military base. They also agreed to make use of the barge carrier’s fleet of tugs and lighters to go retrieve fuel from the port facilities as soon as enough crewmembers and weapons were available.

The two Captains had just formed a fleet.

“You sure about that?” Micha asked hesitantly in Polish from the top of one container.

“There comes a point where you have to take the leap pal, and that one isn’t even that big.” Vadim answered after taking a sip of his beer.

The two griffons were finally enjoying some free time in the evening now that things had stabilized around the harbor. Security teams had been assembled to secure the accesses to the terminal and ensure no monster would manage to get the drop on them as long as they were berthed in Copenhagen. The incident with Aleksei had been the discovery of the day, which quickly lead to other hippogriffs on the crew randomly jumping in the dock’s waters to try out if they were able to transform as well. Both Deck Officers had thus repeatedly had to step off the bridge to fish sheepish transformed sailors out of the water.

Now finally able to catch some relief with someone else keeping watch, both griffons had snuck off behind some container stacks to get some time for themselves. Vadim had made a promise to help the Second Officer with training his flight abilities. The duo didn’t leave the ship with much beside a couple beer bottles. Not even a flak jacket or a pistol, the terminal had been secured after all.

And now, by sunset, they had found an isolated corner hidden from view by the container stacks in the shadow of a container crane. The stacks ranged from one to six containers in height, which made for some great incremental starting points for the two griffons who wished to figure out how to glide properly. They had chosen that specific spot because an earlier recon team had reported some containers loaded with cotton bales and mattresses, which the two had pulled out to make a landing patch for Micha’s sake.

“I mean…” Micha said, glancing between her extended wings and the soft pile of cotton a single container below her. “Is that how you got the gliding down?”

“In my case the landing pad was sand. You got it easy.” Vadim reassured her.

The Ukrainian griffon was resting on his back in the quite comfy pile of mattresses and cotton, merrily sipping from his beer. Hesitant as his friend was, he knew how quick on the uptake she tended to be. Give her a jump or two at one container height and she would be outflying him easily he’d bet.

“Are you positively certain that’s gonna work out?” She asked again.

The grey falcon griffon stared up at his friend with a twinkle in his eyes.

“Hold on a second, weren’t you the one giving me shit ‘bout being afraid of spiders?” Vadim said.

“And what are you getting at exactly?”

“That I’m seeing a griffon that’s scared of heights up here.” He stated before taking a sip of his beer.

“No I’m not! It’s just… there is some justified caution with hurling yourself off of a container.” She protested.

“Exactly, a container.” Vadim said, glancing pointedly towards the much higher stacks around them. “Now I wonder…” He mused. “If we’re griffons; that makes us half-half… so should I call you a scaredy-cat or just a chicken?”

“Neither! Just shut up and let’s forget about this flying nonsense.” Micha cried out.

“Shutting up? By all means, make me.” Vadim said, spreading his wings out tauntingly.

Before he had time to glance up from his beer and notice, Micha sprung up from the edge of the container, wings extended wide. In a second, she glided across the distance that separated her from the other griffon, tackling him and throwing him in a headlock.

“You were saying?” She said before Vadim started laughing.

“Gotcha gliding.” He said, raising a talon. “Didn’t even take a second for you to take the bait.”

Micha released the still laughing griffon with an annoyed growl. She grabbed herself a beer from a pack next to the pile of cotton and downed it in one go.

“You’re an ass.” She ground out.

“A clever ass then ‘cause that right there got you jumping.” Vadim smiled. “So did you feel it?”

“Feel what?”

“The air in your wings… well, I don’t know if that’s air exactly, but at least a hint of an energizing feeling?” Vadim asked. “I found, the stronger it gets the further I can glide.”

Micha stared off in the distance and ruffled her wings, a small frown on the bald eagle griffon’s features. She did feel something in her wings over the short distance she had managed to stay aloft. Her eyes drifted to the large dark brown wings on the edge of her vision. Was that what she was supposed to get the hang of to control her flight?

“I think I did…” She said in a whisper before heading for the ladder, immediately pulling it away from the single container to a stack of two.

“So now you’re going at it again? What happened to the ‘flying nonsense’?” Vadim smirked.

“Turns out some grey feathered moron knocked some sense into me.” The other griffon said, spreading her wings wide from her position on top of two containers.

The two of them took turns in jumping into the pile of mattresses and cotton, the height from which they jumped increasing as their training progressed. Vadim was still ahead of Micha, though not by much. Between the two of them, they started to get a feel of how to handle their wings in a glide and how it should feel to have lift. The higher they jumped from, the longer they could try to get a feel of the air brushing against their primaries. In Micha’s case the landing technique left a lot to be desired, making the impact rather jarring despite the soft material awaiting her at the bottom. They would not be soaring across the sky anytime soon, but given several other training sessions of that kind maybe they could look forward to some actual air mobility.

But all of that might be looking too far into the future considering that they didn’t even know how to turn right then, only glide down and crash in style.

Vadim flew down from the top of the highest container stack around, landing roughly in the pile of cotton and kicking up a cloud of white material. The impact only got a chuckle out of the grey griffon, as it collapsed the tower of mattresses Micha was lounging on after a quick series of jumps. The exercise itself wasn’t too strenuous, but climbing that ladder three dozen times was starting to get to her unlike Vadim who had kept exercising even after the Event. She glowered at the other griffon before pouncing at him with a smirk on her beak.

She caught him just as he was standing up on his hind legs in a provocative manner, the other griffon letting out a surprised squawk before getting into the game and retaliating with a push of his hind legs which threw Micha off of him. The two went at each other for a while in a bout of friendly roughhousing amidst the pile of soft cotton, both enjoying the opportunity of blowing off some steam by wrestling with their best friend.

Soon after, Micha and Vadim collapsed in the pile next to each other, both winded but laughing from the activity.

“Damn, haven’t had fun like that in a while.” Vadim commented after he opened a new beer and passed another to Micha.

“I know right? It just feels so good to let go of everything for a while and just kick back.” She said after effortlessly popping the cap off her own beer with one of her talons. “No duty or ship just for a few hours can’t hurt.”

They lapsed into silence for a few minutes, both of them staring up at the now dark star-filled sky above them, catching their breath. The temperature was still pretty warm despite it not being summer quite yet, though that didn’t matter much to both griffons’ plumage. Micha cracked her wings before resting back down against the mass of cotton, her wingtip accidentally brushing against Vadim’s.

The small nudge made the Ukrainian turn towards his friend, only to find himself staring at her right in the eyes. They both held the look for a couple seconds before Vadim shook his head and stood up awkwardly, folding his wings.

“I uh… gotta catch up on some reading.” He said before scampering away quickly.

Vadim quickly made his way back to the ship, muttering things along the lines of ‘she-no, he’s a dude’ and ‘best friend, not for dating’. All in all, the poor guy was having mixed feelingsabout the Second Officer, which wasn’t made any better by the lingering memory of the girlfriend he used to have before the Event.

As for Micha, the griffon involuntarily caught herself staring at Vadim’s hindquarters before the Ukrainian disappeared around a corner, her eyes reacting naturally while the rest of her mind was reeling in confusion.

Author's Note

In which I start getting into the racial abilities of lesser-known species, and there are more to come.

It was also high time the griffons started doing some actual flight training I believe.

Bit of trivia:
The ISPS code Aleksei mentionned was created as a consequence of the WTC attacks of 2001. It's an amendment of the SOLAS convention.